


Watching the World Take On A New Form

by poetzproblem



Series: Don't Blink [37]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Family Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Pregnancy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-07-24 08:33:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 99,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16171454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetzproblem/pseuds/poetzproblem
Summary: Everything but the three of them fades into a distant thrum for a few precious moments while Rachel falls, falls, falls into an endless depth of absolute love and devotion that she’d never imagined could exist, and she knows without a doubt that she will do anything, risk everything to protect this little person for the rest of her days.





	1. We Greet the World

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** Number 37 of the _Don't Blink_ series. Set between _In Love With the Shape of You_ and the ficlet, _Never Nothing Less Than Beautiful_. This fic is in eight parts and covers a four month period that encompasses a handful of the other existing pregnancy fics.
> 
> This fic is largely unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own. Thanks to Skywarrior108 for being a sounding board.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Glee_ or the characters. I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.

_Watching the world take on a new form_  
_All that I knew then fades to oblivion_  
_So sure that I had what I needed_  
_I should've seen it from the beginning_  
_~Full Blown Love, Broods_

* * *

"How do you feel about Chelsea?"

Rachel tears her gaze away from the apartment listings with a frown to look at her wife, who is currently slouched into the wingback chair with her feet propped up on the ottoman and her chin resting lazily against her palm. Her laptop is balanced precariously between the arm of the chair and the curve of her belly.

"It's a nice enough neighborhood…to visit," Rachel qualifies, thinking of the numerous art galleries and shops and restaurants located there. "But you know it's nowhere near the top of my list of suitable neighborhoods for raising a family." Though finding a decent, well-maintained, affordable apartment with enough space for them and their soon-to-be-born daughter in one of her top five neighborhoods is quickly becoming a Herculean task.

She silently blames this hiccup in her otherwise detailed (and mildly obsessive) plans firmly on Quinn's unpredictable libido.  _Silently_ —because she's way too intelligent to tempt her fate with Quinn's equally unpredictable mood swings.

They really should have had all of this squared away in March, but the weather had been mostly awful for the better part of the month and there was no way that Rachel would even think about risking Quinn's health by having her trudge through a cold and slush-covered city in her delicate condition merely to view apartments. They  _could_  have had it taken care of in April if not for Judy's extended visit (and Quinn's persistently insatiable libido) limiting their already limited opportunities to view vacant apartments in the neighborhoods that Rachel had deemed suitably appropriate for child-rearing, reasonably priced, and conveniently located. And they  _would_  have had it settled the first week of May if they'd been just a little faster snapping up the one apartment that they'd managed to find that they could both agree on—well, agree on _enough_  to decide after a thorough debate over an extensive list of pros and cons to make an offer—but they'd toured it the Friday morning before Josie and Sarah's wedding, and Quinn had been a bridesmaid (for Josie, not Sarah, because  _that_  would have been even weirder than it already was) and with all of that excitement going on that weekend, they hadn't managed to call the building manager back to make the offer until Monday morning, and by then it had already been too late. Some other far more decisive couple had beaten them to the punch.

So here they are, feeling increasingly desperate as they scour every apartment-hunting website for the newest batch of potential apartments to view.

"I was actually wondering how you feel about it as a baby name," Quinn informs her, dropping her hand away from her chin. "Chelsea Fabray," she recites, testing it out with a thoughtful expression on her face.

Butterflies erupt in Rachel's stomach at the potential name—just the way they do every time something happens to make their daughter feel even more tangible to her. "It's a pretty name," Rachel concedes, though she's not certain it's quite right for their little girl. "What does it mean?"

"I'm not sure," Quinn admits with a shrug.

"Name meanings are very important, Quinn," Rachel chastises, fully aware that her wife had probably gotten bored browsing through the same apartments over and over and had let her mind wander off to baby names when she'd noticed Chelsea in the listings. "We have to make sure our daughter starts out her life on the right foot."

"Says the woman who's named after a character on  _Friends_ ," Quinn teases.

Rachel shoots her a disapproving look. "That is exactly my point. Do you know what  _Rachel_ means?" she asks grumpily, not waiting for Quinn to answer. "It means  _ewe_. A female sheep, Quinn!" she exclaims, attempting to ignore the way Quinn's lips twitch into a barely suppressed smile. "I love my fathers dearly, but they obviously dropped the ball with their haphazard method of naming me. I am not a sheep!" And she's not particularly fond of the story of her Hebrew namesake either, so she'll hardly claim that as a more fitting origin of her name.

"You certainly are not," Quinn agrees comfortingly, "but your name is still beautiful and fits you perfectly."

Feeling adequately appeased, Rachel offers her wife a sweet smile. "You know, Quinn means  _wise,_ and it does tend to suit you…most of the time," she adds playfully

Quinn snickers derisively, rolling her eyes. "Except that's not exactly what my parents named me, is it?"

"Lucy means light," Rachel reminds her, "and that suits you too, because you're the light of my life." When Quinn blushes prettily, Rachel's smile only grows. "Which is why I still think Lucy would be the perfect name for our daughter," she slips in, trying once again to convince Quinn to at least consider it.

With a firm shake of her head, Quinn insists that, "We're not naming our daughter after that version of me."

Even after all this time, Quinn still tends to talk about Lucy as someone separate from herself, but, "I love that version of you," Rachel tells her tenderly, "and you like her well enough to write under her name, Lucy Quinn."

"Which is another reason not to name our daughter that. I'm not that much of a narcissist," Quinn defends, amusement evident in her voice.

"Will you at least consider Lucy for a middle name?" Rachel asks, not willing to give it up just yet. She's not sure why exactly. She does love the name—she thinks it's pretty and she loves the meaning—but maybe it's more about Rachel wanting their daughter to have that connection to Quinn's truest self. After all, there is a reason that Quinn had chosen to publish her novels under that name. It's Lucy that used to escape into all of those big, fantastical dreams when she was a little girl, and Lucy's imagination that nurtured Quinn's love of literature. Lucy is the most innocent part of Quinn.

"Maybe if we can't agree on a better one," Quinn finally offers, albeit reluctantly.

"I'll take it," Rachel is quick to accept, grinning happily.

"I said  _maybe_ , Rach," Quinn cautions when she notices her expression. "I can already think of at least half a dozen better ones."

"But two weeks ago it was solid  _no_ ," Rachel points out undeterred. "I'm wearing you down."

"This apartment hunt is wearing me down," Quinn counters with a tired sigh.

Rachel hums in sympathy. "I know, baby, but that's all the more reason for us to find one soon. So let's get back to work," she encourages, turning her attention back to her own laptop to scroll through the next page of three bedroom apartments on the market. It really is getting frustratingly repetitive.

"Chelsea means port," Quinn announces a minute later. "From the old English chalk wharf _._ "

Rachel frowns at her wife's deliberate detour to Google. "That's not apartment hunting, Quinn."

Quinn grins sheepishly, shrugging her shoulder again. "You made me curious."

"We're not naming our daughter for a port," Rachel declares, mentally crossing Chelsea off the possibilities list—not that it was ever really on there to begin with because she's not remotely inclined to saddle their daughter with the same name as a neighborhood in Manhattan.

Quinn nods her agreement. "I guess it doesn't flow all that well with Fabray anyway."

"And it certainly won't sound right with Lucy as a middle name." Chelsea Lucy Fabray is just a ridiculous mouthful.

Quinn dismisses her observation with a roll of her eyes. "So we're still searching."

"Apartments first," Rachel commands in her most authoritative voice. "Baby names later."

They still have a good three and half months to find the perfect name for their daughter. They have considerably less to find the perfect apartment if they want to bring that daughter home to it.

It's that time crunch pressing down on them that eventually finds them looking at a four bedroom on the Upper West Side that's just above their previously agreed upon budget.

They haven't really been looking for four bedrooms, confident that three are certainly enough to meet their immediate needs, and there are so few currently on the market that it really hadn't factored into their hunt until now. But the location and the building amenities are far too tempting to outright dismiss, and the other dozen or so apartments that they've seen in the last several weeks have all fallen short for one reason or another—the kitchen was too small, the appliances were too old, there weren't enough windows, the master bedroom was on the other side of the apartment from where they'd want to put the nursery—so they'd agreed to broaden their search.

Rachel is instantly enamored with the building. It's smack dab in the middle of West End Avenue, so it doesn't boast the greatest views, but it's pet-friendly (which is a must for Oliver) with a doorman, an on-site exercise room, and a spacious elevator that's both fast and smooth—a far cry from their current building. It's also located in a fairly good neighborhood with a (relatively) low crime rate, well-ranked schools, and within walking distance (if they're in the mood for a twenty or thirty minute walk) to Central Park, Lincoln Center,  _and_  the apartment that Santana now shares with Teresa. The walk to Santana's place is significantly shorter. Rachel mostly counts this as a plus.

There _are_  a few negatives though. One is the extra distance to both the theater district and their doctor's office, but Rachel supposes that she won't have to worry about the commute to the Cort Theatre in a few short months, and the building isn't very far from a stop on the Broadway-Seventh Avenue line that would take her into Midtown. Trips to their doctor's office will be undertaken via taxi or car service, of course, because Rachel deems it a far safer mode of transportation for Quinn in her current delicate condition.

Their biggest concern about the apartment, however, is the price. With Rachel's steady income having an expiration date that is fast approaching, she's a little worried that they might eventually feel the pinch of meeting the rent every month. Moving here would mean taking the gamble that Quinn's books will continue to be a success, the pending film adaptation will actually come to fruition and adequately pad their bank account, and that Rachel will be able to easily find other roles once she's ready to go back to work. Even assuming that all of those things work out in their favor, neither one of them can accurately predict just how much the baby will cut into their savings once she's actually here, so Rachel is acutely conscious of the possibility that she might need to take on more projects sooner than is currently planned.

Rachel's eyes stray to her wife as they step off the elevator, taking notice of the way she's currently rubbing distractedly at a spot on her lower back as they follow the building manager, Leo, to the apartment. Quinn is starting to do that more often now that she's well into her sixth month, and Rachel is beginning to worry more that her pregnancy is putting a bigger burden on her body than she'd originally imagined it would.

She reaches out to gently rest her palm against Quinn's lower back, close to the spot that she's been kneading. "Are you feeling okay?" she asks quietly when she catches Quinn's attention.

"I'm fine," Quinn promises, offering a reassuring smile. "Just a tiny muscle ache. Don't worry."

Rachel frowns. It's nearly impossible not to worry, but she's doing her best to trust Quinn's judgement when it comes to her own body. She really just wants them to find a suitable apartment and get moved in quickly so Quinn can relax for the next three months and not have to traipse around Manhattan, climbing up steps and stoops and battling tiny, rattling elevators while she stresses out about finding the perfect home for their growing family. And maybe Rachel is more than a little eager to stop stressing about all of that as well—she has more than enough  _other_  monumental life-changing events to stress over.

"Here we are, ladies," Leo announces with a proud smile as he stops them in front of apartment 10-E and unlocks the door before inviting them inside.

When they step into the entryway, they're met with hardwood floors, clean white walls, and the scent of pine from the cleaning products that had been used to scrub away any remnants of the last tenants. There's a small foyer with a coat closet to the left, a short, white wall just begging for a picture frame or painting directly in front, and spacious kitchen to the right that's immediately within their view.

"Oh," Quinn gasps softly, placing a hand over her heart as she immediately wanders into the kitchen. The pleased little smile curving her lips lets Rachel know that her wife is already in love with what she sees there.

The kitchen is larger than the one in their current apartment, built into the corner with a fairly open design, and it's divided from the adjoining room by only a breakfast bar that's specious enough to seat four. Seeing Quinn's immediate interest, Leo begins to go over the details of the kitchen. The countertops are white and black granite with natural veining and are polished into a gleaming shine, while the cabinets are a warm oak with a finish light enough to keep the kitchen bright. All of the appliances appear sleek and modern, yet somehow blend seamlessly into the more traditional style prevalent in the cabinets and countertops.

"I love this kitchen," Quinn murmurs appreciatively, still grinning in delight as she trails the pads of her fingers over the countertops. "I don't think I'd ever feel claustrophobic in here."

Rachel reaches out to snag her hand, entwining their fingers with a soft smile to let Quinn know that they're on the same page. A larger than average kitchen is a big selling point for Quinn, and Rachel is perfectly willing to defer to her wife's preferences on that front. More than a few of apartments they'd seen had been outright rejected by Quinn purely on the basis of a tiny kitchen alone.

"The refrigerator is fairly new," Leo informs them. "It was replaced five months ago. And the oven and dishwasher are both in great shape. I think the former tenants lived on take out and frozen meals," he jokes.

"Well, we'd definitely be taking full advantage of this kitchen," Quinn assures him, gazing around with a pleased smile on her lips. Rachel guesses that she's already imaging where all of her kitcheny things would go.

"I know you could probably spend an hour in here inspecting every cabinet," Rachel teases her wife, "and I promise you can do that before we leave, but can we see the rest of the apartment first?"

Quinn rolls her eyes. "I'm mildly impressed that you haven't already run around from room to room, opening every door."

Rachel blushes, ducking her head as Leo attempts to muffle his obvious amusement. She might have possibly done that when they'd seen some of the other apartments—well,  _all_  of the other apartments. She doesn't think there's anything wrong with wanting to establish an overall impression of the whole before picking apart the details of every individual nook and cranny. Really—why even waste the time if it doesn't feel like a place she could be happy living in from that very first look?

In truth, they don't actually need to step out of the kitchen to have an idea of what the rest of the apartment looks like. There's a clear view over the breakfast bar into the next room, where large windows line the far wall. They can't technically be classified as floor-to-ceiling, but the effect is similar, and the clear panes of glass reveal just a hint of the Hudson River peeking through the buildings on the opposite side of the street. Rachel immediately prefers the view to the unrelenting brick and concrete outside of so many of the other apartments they've toured in the last several weeks.

When they do leave the kitchen, Leo first stops to show them that the adjacent wall that creates the foyer actually houses a closet—this one with double doors and far more spacious than the coat closet—and it effectively hides most of the open living room from the view of the front door to offer an added sense of privacy.

"It feels bigger than the other apartments we've seen," Rachel comments as her eyes take in the spacious room. Quinn hums her agreement as she wanders over to the windows to get a better look at the view.

"The open floorplan probably makes it feel a little bigger than it actually is," Leo cautions, "but this room is plenty big enough to fit a full living room set and a dinner table without feeling cramped," he assures them before gesturing toward the nearby hallway. "The bedrooms and bathroom are all down that hall."

"Then let's see them," Quinn instructs, already moving in that direction. Rachel can tell by the intense gleam in her eyes that she's eager to see if the rest of the apartment lives up to that kitchen.

"Of course. That's what we're here for," Leo says as he steps out ahead of them only to pause at the first door on the left. He twists the knob and pushes it open, proudly announcing it to be the, "Laundry room."

And by laundry room, he means a  _room_. Unlike the standard stacked washer and dryer combo that's commonly found shoved into hallway closets barely big enough to contain them all across Manhattan, this apartment features an actual room about the size of a small bathroom with enough shelving and storage space to actually  _do the laundry_  in it—and possibly the ironing too.

"Oh, nice," Quinn murmurs, glancing at Rachel with a delighted grin before disappearing into the room for a closer inspection.

"This is a definite check in the  _pro_  column," Rachel agrees. This apartment is looking very promising so far—and Rachel can tell by the expression on Quinn's face that she really wants that kitchen and now this laundry room.

Once Quinn has investigated the shelving and the condition of the washer and dryer, they move onto the bathroom next door. It's about on par with most of the others they've seen, which is to say that it's large enough to fit two adults without feeling overly cramped while still requiring a certain degree of litheness to avoid any major collisions. Rachel silently attempts to assess just how functional it might be once Quinn hits her ninth month of pregnancy and, after that, when they add in a baby for bath time, but Quinn seems happy enough with what she sees, nodding her approval as she surveys the space, so Rachel supposes she can put aside her preference for something just a little bit bigger.

There's a sleek sink with a vanity cabinet, just enough room in the corner to maybe fit some kind of shelving, and a combination bathtub and shower with a detachable shower head. That's a definite plus for so many reasons, not the least of which is that they'll soon have a daughter who'll require baths and not showers for the foreseeable future.

They explore the bedrooms next, starting with the one across from the laundry room and nearest to the living area. Leo informs them that it's technically the smallest one, and it certainly feels that way when they step inside. Even empty, Rachel can tell that they probably wouldn't be able to squeeze anything above a twin-size mattress into this room if they'd want to leave space for any other furniture, but it at least has a large window—the same as the ones in the living and dining room—to brighten it up.

"This would make a good office," Quinn observes, obviously thinking along the same lines in terms of the size. Rachel can easily guess that Quinn would choose to position her desk facing out that window so she could enjoy the partial view of the Hudson while she writes, leaving the walls free to be lined with all her bookshelves.

The next bedroom is bigger with plenty of closet space and sunlight, another partial view of the river, and is, according to Leo, right next door to the master bedroom. Quinn thoughtfully bites into her lower lip and presses a hand to her belly as she surveys the room with a discerning gaze.

"You're thinking this would be the nursery," Rachel guesses quietly, slipping her own hand into Quinn's empty one because she suddenly feels the need to be connected to her wife and unborn daughter, and she doesn't think Quinn will appreciate having her belly rubbed with Leo watching them.

Quinn glances at Rachel with shining eyes and a tremulous smile. "I can already picture it." And Rachel finds that she can too, easily imagining a cheerful yellow rug to cover the hardwood floors and a decorative trim of teddy bears along the walls.

Feeling the familiar sting of moisture in her eyes, she attempts to clear the lump from her throat. "We should probably check out the other rooms before we make any decisions," she prompts, squeezing Quinn's hand in hers when Quinn nods her agreement.

"The master bedroom is next door, but we should save the best for last," Leo suggests, grinning as he leads them back into the hallway, skipping over the next door and turning the corner towards the third bedroom. This hallway is actually fairly short with a door at the end and double doors on the left that conceal another large linen closet. Rachel is silently impressed by how much closet space there is in this apartment.

The bedroom he shows them is longer than the other two but not quite as wide, though the length does make it feel a little more spacious than the first room they'd seen. It also has a single, large window, though it faces south and mostly looks out at the neighboring building.

"This could work for a nursery too," Rachel murmurs absently, considering the possibility that the south-facing window might be better in the evenings than one exposed directly to the setting sun.

Quinn hums thoughtfully as she looks around the room before deciding, "I think I like the other one better. It feels brighter."

Rachel agrees, but, "This one might be cooler."

"Maybe in the summer," Quinn concedes, "but it might be colder in the winter."

Rachel frowns, not having fully considered that. Colder is definitely worse. "I suppose we still have  _some_  time to debate the merits of sun exposure before deciding on the proper placement of the nursery." Though not nearly as much time as Rachel would prefer.

Quinn laughs, light and breezy, as she lifts her hand to pat Rachel's cheek. "That's what curtains are for, sweetie. The nursery goes in the other room."

"You're assuming quite a lot, Quinn," Rachel challenges, crossing her arms. "We haven't made any firm decisions on this apartment yet." Though she has to admit that she's impressed with everything she's seen so far. She knows that Quinn is too, and there's still the pesky little fact that they are swiftly running out of time to make a decision, but, "We haven't even seen the master bedroom yet."

"What d'ya say we rectify that, ladies?" Leo cuts in, looking mostly amused by them, albeit with a trace of bewilderment evident in his eyes. They tend to get that look quite often for some odd reason.

"I think that's a great idea," Quinn agrees, grinning at Rachel as she follows Leo back to the final bedroom.

"I think you'll really like this room," Leo says with a smile, opening the door and gesturing for them to go ahead inside. He's quoting the dimensions to them from the hallway, just as he has with the other rooms, but Rachel can't say that she's really paying attention because her focus is entirely on the bedroom from the moment she steps inside.

It feels huge compared to the others, and there's more than enough room for a queen-sized mattress—maybe even a king—with plenty of space left over for furnishings. They could probably even fit in a chair or a small loveseat. Three large windows light the room—two on the west-facing wall and another on the southern wall—and the view, while not exactly spectacular, is unarguably the nicest one in the apartment. The entire room feels ripe with possibilities.

"Oh, wow," Rachel breathes out appreciatively.

She's startled out of her admiration of the space by Quinn's near-frantic, "Rachel," and a cold rush of dread cuts through her blood as she spins around, worried that she'll see Quinn on the floor or clutching her stomach in pain or something infinitely worse, but instead she sees a wide-eyed Quinn grinning like a madwoman in front of an open door on the far wall. "There's a walk-in closet," Quinn gushes before she disappears inside.

Rachel presses a hand to her chest and takes a deep breath to calm her racing heart before she moves to follow her wife, biting her tongue to keep from chastising Quinn for the near heart attack she'd just given her. But when she steps into the closet, all the anxiety that she'd felt evaporates. "Oh, wow," she repeats, her own eyes widening as she gazes around the closet while Quinn spins around with a gleeful expression on her face.

The closet is huge, with clothing rods fastened to the walls and built-in shelving. They might actually be able to share this one without Rachel needing to store half of her wardrobe in the hallway closet. "I definitely don't remember this being mentioned in the listing."

Leo chuckles as he leans against the doorframe and observes them. "It's an extra feature of the corner apartments due to the layout, so we don't tend to list it. Wouldn't want to make the other tenants jealous."

"And how much does that extra feature add to the rent?" Rachel questions warily when she steps out of the closet with Quinn close behind her.

"You do lose a half bathroom with this floorplan," Leo reminds them, referring to the fact that most of the other apartments in this building feature two and half bathrooms while this one only offers two. "So the rent comes out just about even."

"Define  _just about_ ," Rachel demands, feeling Quinn poke her warningly in the back. She quite obviously  _really_  wants that kitchen and the laundry room and now this closet.

"It's an extra two hundred a month for the corner units," Leo admits grudgingly.

"It should be less if I'm losing a bathroom," Rachel mutters, thinking that a bathroom  _must_  be worth more than a closet—no matter how spacious and convenient and  _wonderful_ that closet might be.

"Rachel," Quinn cautions, resting her hand on Rachel's shoulder. "I'll take this closet over the extra half bathroom any day."

Rachel huffs a little and crosses her arms as she stares down Leo in silent challenge. He knows what she's getting at. He's a shrewd businessman, and she is a shrewd businesswoman—well, not technically, but she  _is_  a determined negotiator and not above attempting to talk him down a little on the rent. He only chuckles again, shaking his head as he points them towards the other door in the room. "Why don't you check out the connecting bathroom, and then you can let me know if it's worth it."

Skeptical but curious, Rachel opens the other door and steps into the bathroom where she instantly freezes in stunned surprise when she's met with a full marble vanity with double sinks and a large mirror, a window on the exterior wall, and a walk-in shower that's big enough for two with a sleek glass door and—

"Dual shower heads," Quinn breathes out reverently as she pushes past Rachel, making a beeline for the shower and opening the door to inspect the decadent interior. "And a bench," she gushes, gazing longingly at the sight of the seat built into the shower wall.

"Seem a little more even now?" Leo calls after them from the bedroom.

Quinn spins around to face Rachel. "I think this is the better deal," she whispers excitedly, gesturing back to the shower.

Rachel does not disagree. She instantly imagines all the ways that she and Quinn could enjoy that shower. And it really would be incredible to have that walk-in closet, and the corner apartment with so many windows, and that kitchen that Quinn loves, and the doorman and onsite exercise room. But, "It's over our budget," she reminds Quinn cautiously.

"Only by three hundred, which isn't bad for a four bedroom corner unit," Quinn argues quietly, reaching down to link their hands together. Her expression is almost pleading when she says, "I really love this apartment, Rach. It's perfect for us, and we're kind of running out of time here," she points out with a wry smile, glancing down at her protruding belly.

And that's probably the most important factor of all. The apartment in Murray Hill really isn't going to be big enough for a family of three in the long run, and trying to do everything they'll need to do to get moved after the baby comes feels practically impossible. Even now, without a newborn baby to take care of, it's going to be an exhausting ordeal.

"I do really like this place," Rachel admits, smiling up at her wife as she lets go of her hands only to place her palms gently over Quinn's belly—she feels safe enough doing so with Leo in the other room. "I can picture us starting our family here." There's room enough for three with a just enough extra space for a visiting grandparent or two, it's in one of Rachel's top four most desirable neighborhoods for safety and schooling, there are parks nearby, and the rent isn't completely unreasonable for everything they'll be getting.

Quinn covers Rachel's hands with her own. "So we're going for it?" she asks hopefully.

Their daughter chooses that moment to move beneath their joined hands, and they both giggle. "We're going for it," Rachel decides with a firm nod, forcibly pushing aside her lingering doubts about the rent. The kitchen and master bedroom are probably worth the price alone, and she knows that if this building was located on Central Park West or Riverside Drive, the rent would easily be five thousand more a month just for the view. Rachel doesn't need a perfect view, and she certainly doesn't want to make the same mistake they'd made with the last apartment by taking too much time to make a decision—not when this apartment is the first one they've seen that really feels like it could be  _home_.

They complete the application that day, providing all their necessary documentation via email—pristinely scanned prior to the viewing and ready to be sent via cell phone—before they even leave the building. Rachel is nothing if not thoroughly prepared, and they've certainly seen enough apartments to know what's required of them for the application process. Leo assures them that the credit reference and background check is just a formality, but they'll still need to wait another day or two for their official approval.

When it comes late on Tuesday afternoon, they're quick to sign the lease, returning to West End Avenue bright and early on Wednesday morning to finalize the paperwork, and there's a certain sense of relief that comes in knowing that they can finally stop scouring the apartment listings and stressing over the move. Except—

"Oh, God," Rachel gasps, gripping tightly to Quinn's hand tightly in the backseat of the taxi that's taking them back to Murray Hill. "We have to move."

Quinn gives her an odd look. "Yes, Rachel. That's been the general idea in looking for a new apartment."

Rachel frowns at her tone—the slightly condescending one that she uses when she thinks Rachel is being particularly obtuse. "I know that," she counters testily. "But now we actually have to  _do_  it. We have to pack up all of our possessions and get rid of all the excess stuff we've accumulated over the years and clean the apartment and give our notice to Howard."

Though telling their current landlord that they're officially moving out will actually be something of a relief. They certainly have nothing against the man, and they've always liked the building, but they'd chosen not to renew their lease at the full term in February in preparation for their eventual move, opting to pay month-to-month since then. Subsequently, their rent had increased significantly. Thank God Howard generally likes them (and is a fan of Rachel's singing voice) so had given them a very slight discount on the mandatory increase.

"And we absolutely  _need_ to hire a moving company this time," she continues with a worried frown. "There's no way we're doing everything by ourselves." She loves their friends and her dads dearly, and she knows that they'll all be willing to help out again, but she can't be expected to oversee them properly while she's busy making certain that Quinn doesn't lift a single thing. That's how sofas crack door frames in half and chairs get dropped out of windows and cats get stepped on or escape never to be seen again!

Her eyes widen with sudden panic. "Oliver! We didn't have Oliver last time. He'll be so confused!" she exclaims, beginning to fret over how he'll handle the move. Their current apartment is the only home he's ever known—aside from those first awful months that he'd spent living on the streets and under dumpsters. "We should have been preparing him for this. You know how stressed out he gets just from going to the vet."

Quinn worries her lip for a moment before prudently suggesting, "We could always drug him up."

"Quinn! We are not drugging our cat." Rachel already has enough to worry about without adding a potential feline overdose to her already extensive list of possible disasters.

"Maybe we can board him at Doctor Sweeney's office for a couple of days," Quinn suggests thoughtfully, frowning now as she clearly considers the potential complication of having to navigate this move with an occasionally temperamental cat underfoot. "Or hire a cat sitter or something."

Rachel can't imagine that leaving Oliver at the vet's office for an extended period would be any less stressful for him. He'd ignored them for days after they'd had him neutered and he'd only been left at the vet for eight hours—of course, he'd also lost certain body parts on that occasion that very well may have contributed to his irritation with them. "He's going to hate us." Their cat is a champion at holding a grudge.

"Well, he probably won't be happy with us," Quinn admits, sounding genuinely regretful, "but we don't have a choice, Rach. We need to move, and Ollie will just have to adjust. Maybe you can bribe him with extra food to make him feel better," she offers with a tiny smile of encouragement.

Rachel refrains from reminding her wife that the extra food currently isn't working to rectify Oliver's increasing distaste for Quinn's rapidly disappearing lap. Rachel lets her head drop back against the top of the seat with a sigh, staring blindly up at the mildly disgusting roof of the taxi. "And now I have to add researching reputable cat sitters to my list of things to be done," she laments, tossing up a hand in desolation.

She can hear Quinn's quiet laughter from the seat next to her, and she lets her head roll in that direction to pout at her wife. Quinn instantly attempts to bite back her smile. "Josie and Sarah might agree to take him for a couple of days. They'll be back from their honeymoon by the end of next week, and he seems to like them well enough."

"He likes Teresa better," Rachel counters, though she suspects it's primarily because he seems to sense that it irritates Santana. "And we wouldn't have to drag him all the way to Queens." She strongly suspects  _that_  car trip wouldn't go over very well with him.

"But he  _doesn't_  like Santana," Quinn reminds her, amusement evident in her voice.

With another despondent sigh, Rachel concedes, "You're right. One of them wouldn't survive." She's afraid it would be Oliver, though she's certain that he wouldn't go down without a fight.

Quinn doesn't bother to stifle her laughter this time. "My money's on Oliver, especially if Teresa's in the room."

A grin sneaks onto Rachel's lips. "I'd rather not find out. We'd be better off asking Kurt to take him." He'll undoubtedly complain about all the potential cat hairs on his leather sofa and designer jackets, but, "He might agree if he thinks it will get him out of schlepping boxes around."

Quinn's eyebrow inches up. "We'd let him get out of that?"

"No," Rachel admits, "but I'm not above letting him think we might until it's too late." Oliver should be able to refrain from destroying anything of value in Kurt's apartment for a few hours.

She hopes.

"We'll figure it out," Quinn promises, reaching over to tuck a stray piece of hair behind Rachel's ear. "And maybe Oliver will surprise us. We can see how he seems after he watches us pack up boxes over the next few days."

Rachel groans. "Don't remind me!" She's already dreading all the work they need to do, especially when she still has a full show schedule to deal with. "Do you think there are any moving companies that will pack the boxes for us?" she wonders out loud.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Even if there are, there's no way we're letting a bunch of strangers paw through our personal items. It's bad enough letting Santana do it." Rachel grimaces as she recalls the embarrassing strap-on debacle from their first move. "The movers can take the furniture and the boxes  _after_  we've packed them."

"But it's so much work," Rachel whines petulantly. "And I don't want you lifting anything." She'd much prefer Quinn to remain safely and comfortably seated while she directs everyone (who is  _not_ Rachel) how and what and when to pack.

"I'm not an invalid, even if I am turning into a whale," Quinn grumbles sullenly, rubbing a palm over her expanding stomach. "I can still clean and pack, which you should know very well since you go all crazy overprotective on me every time I do it."

"You're not a whale," Rachel assures her quickly, not wanting to take any unnecessary chances with Quinn's occasionally delicate body image. She's still absolutely gorgeous, of course, but there's no ignoring the fact that she's getting bigger and, therefore, a tiny bit less graceful in her movements at times. Rachel still isn't able to predict with any real accuracy when a stray comment like that one is a general lament, quickly dismissed from the conversation, and when it's a portent of a self-esteem spiral that will inevitably result in tears. Today, thankfully, it seems to be the former, as evidenced by Quinn's faint smile, and Rachel reaches across the seat to place a comforting hand on her leg. "But I can't help worrying about you."

"I know," Quinn acknowledges on a sigh. "But can you maybe worry less about  _me_  and more about helping me get ready for our move?"

"Is that not what I'm currently doing?" Rachel asks with a confused frown. She's quite certain that's been the driving force of this entire conversation.

"It sounded more like freaking out to me," Quinn informs her with a shrug.

"I think a little freaking out is perfectly permissible in this situation, Quinn," Rachel huffs, crossing her arms. "Frankly, I don't understand why you're not joining me."

An indulgent smile pulls at Quinn's lips, and she shakes her head. "Because we're currently in the back of a speeding taxi, which is automatically more stressful to me than our impending move," she points out wryly, prompting Rachel to take Quinn's hand in empathy, "and I'd actually like to celebrate our new apartment for at least a few hours before I freak out over all the work we still have to do to get moved into it."

"That's an annoyingly reasonable answer," Rachel grudgingly concedes. "Will you freak out with me when we get home?"

Quinn chuckles as she squeezes her hand. "Possibly." She leans closer, lips curving slyly. "But I'd rather you celebrate our new apartment with me." Her voice drops into that rich, husky purr that never fails to make Rachel shiver, and there's a certain telling glimmer in her hazel eyes that Rachel has come to know intimately.

Rachel licks her lips in response, causing those glittering eyes to darken noticeably. "I suppose I could be persuaded." They still have a good three hours before she has to be at the theatre for her show, and she's gotten very good in the last several months at satisfying her wife's very specific and urgent needs under tight time constraints.

Pink lips quirk up into a sexy smirk. "I'm very good at persuading," Quinn boasts quietly.

Dragging in a deep breath, Rachel glances at their driver to make sure he isn't paying too much attention to their conversation. Satisfied that he's mostly watching the road—and pleased to see they're almost home—Rachel leans close enough to her wife to whisper, "I know," before placing a soft, teasing kiss to those smirking lips.

It's enough to put her little freak-out on the backburner—at least until after they've thoroughly finished their celebration.

_xx_

The freaking out happens in due course.

Rachel spends the entirety of the morning after they sign the lease reading every resource she can find on the internet in order to determine which local moving companies are fully licensed and insured with the highest ratings and the fewest complaints. They want to be moved into their new apartment before the end of May so they won't have to pay another month of rent on their current one—and maybe also because Rachel is nominated for another Tony (along with her show and two of her costars), and she'd rather have the stress of the move (mostly) behind her before she fully commits to stressing out over her award and choosing an appropriate dress to wear for the ceremony that will make her appear equally humble should she win and gracious should she lose.

It doesn't quite work out that way.

Apparently, everyone in the New York metropolitan area and all of its surrounding suburbs wants to move by or on Memorial Day weekend, so Rachel can't get any of her top five moving companies scheduled until the first of June, which is a Thursday, and they're lucky to even get that date—thankfully, someone had only very recently cancelled a reservation, leaving a small window of availability for Rachel. She'll need to miss a show, but she jumps at the date.

It's okay. She's not panicking. It gives them more time to clean and pack, and she'll still have a good eleven days to stress out over the Tonys, and technically they won't actually be living in the apartment in June, so she convinces Howard (possibly by begging and bribing him with two tickets to her show) to agree not to charge them another month of rent.

She absolutely does  _not_  obsessively call everyone they know in a blind panic to see who'll be available to help them.

It's not  _blind_  at all—it's very clearly focused and methodic in its completion.

Her dads and at least two of their friends (thank God Teresa and Kurt have mostly flexible schedules) will be available to help them for the entire day, and Santana might be able to get her schedule rearranged at the hospital—and if she doesn't, Rachel will torture her by singing show tunes (that she doesn't like) every time they see one another for the next ten years at least. Harry should be able to swing by after work, and Rachel will guilt Josie and Sarah into doing the same once they get back from their honeymoon and she's therefore permitted to call them. (Quinn had been very clear that Rachel is not to contact them while they're still overseas.) And Peter is free in the morning before he'll have to leave for an evening performance of his new play.

The only one not doing his part is Steven, who'll be on location in Vancouver through the end of June, filming exterior scenes for his newest movie—stupid famous sperm-donor!—and she supposes that she'll have to give him one pass since he'd graciously contributed to their growing family in other very important ways.

Shelby has to work (which is not a valid excuse in and of itself) but even if she didn't, Beth still has school until the middle of June, and Rachel isn't about to demand that she engage in truancy this late in the school year, so she's reluctantly agreeing to let them off the hook this time as well.

Rachel is trying not to stress too heavily over the scheduling she'll need to do to make all of this work when she has too many other things to stress over—like coming home from her show to find Quinn boxing up the rest of her books without Rachel's supervision.

"Quinn! You're not supposed to be doing this when I'm not here!" Rachel practically screeches, rushing over to grab the book right out of her wife's hands.

"Don't start with me, Rachel," Quinn warns, rolling her eyes as she attempts to take back the book. "If I only pack when you're here, we'll never be ready in time." Rachel tries to ignore the subtle dig at her schedule as she braces her body against Quinn's attempt to wrest the book away from her. "Let go," Quinn growls, tugging on the book that Rachel is now clinging to with both hands.

"We agreed that you could fold clothes and towels and…various other soft, fluffy, weightless stuff," Rachel argues, unexpectedly winning the tug of war with the book when Quinn abruptly lets go—sending Rachel stumbling a few steps backward.

"All the clothes that can be packed now are packed. My entire pre-pregnancy wardrobe has been in boxes in the spare closet for the last two months," she reminds Rachel, flinging a hand in the direction of the closet in question. And it's true—Quinn had made certain that they'd gotten a good many things in their spare bedroom cleaned out and packed up at the beginning of April before her mother had come for her last visit. Judy's particular brand of critiquing their apartment had only been ninety percent responsible for the cleaning spree. "Unless you want us to walk around naked until we're in our new apartment, I can't pack anymore clothes. What I  _can_  pack are our books and photos and your music collection and awards."

Rachel frowns, clutching the book to her chest with crossed arms. "You aren't to touch those awards, Quinn. They're far too heavy."

Quinn throws her hands up in agitation. "Stop treating me like a child, Rachel! Doctor Barnes said it should be safe for me to lift up to twenty pounds. Your damn awards are nowhere near that."

Rachel gasps at the affront to her awards, but that's hardly the most pressing issue. "She said it  _should be_ , Quinn, not that it definitely  _is_. I'd rather we err on the side of caution, especially with your previous back injury."

Quinn's eyes flash with fire, and Rachel worries for a moment that her wife is about to greatly elevate her blood pressure with a heated tirade about her general good health and fitness levels, but then Quinn takes an audible breath and seems to deliberately calm herself down, even as she pushes her fingers through her hair in clear frustration.

"Your version of caution borders on tyrannical," she mutters before resting her hands on Rachel's shoulders and looking her squarely in the eyes. "Rachel. I love you. But you are driving me crazy." The frustrated admission stings, but Quinn ignores her little huff of protest and continues on. "We need to pack and clean this entire apartment, and I don't want the stress of having to do it all at once. It's easier to tackle a little at a time, and unless you plan to skip every show until we're actually moved into our new home and have completely unpacked and settled in," and Rachel winces a little at the mere thought of missing that many shows, "then you need to trust me to do some of this when you're not here. I know what my body can handle, baby and all."

Rachel opens her mouth to object, sees Quinn's eyes narrow almost immediately, and promptly closes her mouth again. She inhales deeply through her nose and lets her arms fall away from her chest, careful not to let the book that she's still holding drop to the floor, before she nods ever so slightly. "But…"

"Rachel," Quinn cuts in warningly, gripping her shoulders a little more tightly.

"But," Rachel repeats more firmly, undeterred, "can you at least understand why I'm concerned that you're doing these things while you're here in the apartment by yourself?" she asks, placing a hand on the side of Quinn's belly in search of the physical comfort that their daughter's gentle movements offer her. "God forbid, if something were to happen when I'm not here and you couldn't reach a phone, it might be hours before…before I'd know…before you'd get  _help_ ," she adds, voice cracking as the images that have been plaguing her on and off for the last several months assault her all at once—Quinn on the floor, in pain and alone and _bleeding_ —and Rachel feels a few traitorous tears escape down over her cheeks. "I'd never be able to forgive myself for leaving you alone," she trails off, choking back a sob as she shakes her head in helpless despair.

Quinn's hold on her instantly changes, and she tugs Rachel into her arms, holding her close. Rachel lets the book drop to the floor now, wrapping her arms around Quinn and clinging to her. "Oh, sweetheart. Don't do that to yourself," Quinn soothes. "Don't create catastrophes where there aren't any."

Rachel shakes her head again, burrowing her nose into the soft collar of Quinn's button-down maternity shirt where she inhales the familiar scent of her perfume. Logically, she knows that Quinn is perfectly healthy—backaches aside—and capable of assessing her own physical limitations, but emotionally—

"I just keep remembering that day in glee…when you were pregnant with Beth and…and you fell," she eventually murmurs, her voice trembling with emotion. She can still recall it so vividly—the frightening moment when Quinn's feet had slipped out from beneath her and she'd gone down heavily on the cold, hard floor right next to Rachel. "I swear my heart stopped for a minute. I was so terrified that you might lose the baby, and she wasn't even mine.  _You_  weren't mine," she recalls sadly, lifting her head to meet Quinn's now glistening eyes. "But my first instinct was to rush to your side anyway and…and somehow make it better. Make you both okay." She even remembers taking a step in that direction until she'd noticed both Finn and Noah do the same. "But I couldn't because it wasn't my place."

"And now it is," Quinn murmurs in understanding, lifting a hand to Rachel's cheek where she brushes away the traces of her tears with a gentle thumb.

"Now it is," Rachel confirms solemnly. "And I don't ever want something like that to happen again. Not on my watch."

Quinn's lips twitch into a faint grin as she drops both her hands to Rachel's waist. "I think I can pretty much guarantee that I won't be attempting any complicated dance moves around the apartment."

Rachel purses her lips, refusing to be charmed by her wife. "I know you think you're being funny, Quinn, but unless you can also guarantee that you won't trip over the rug in the bathroom or lose your balance reaching for one of your many skillets, then my concerns remain valid."

With a resigned sigh, Quinn lets her hands fall to her sides. "I'm not saying they aren't, Rachel, but you do realize that even if I don't pack up the apartment while you're at the theatre, I'm not going to just laze around in bed for the next three months surrounded by pillows. I really will turn into a whale," she jokes, attempting to pull a smile from Rachel. It might work just a little bit.

"That will never happen," Rachel reassures her again.

Quinn smiles in gratitude, lifting her hand again to tenderly brush the back of her fingers over Rachel's jaw. "In any case, you still manage to leave for your show every day and trust that I'll be here waiting for you…perfectly fine…when you get home."

Rachel guiltily averts her eyes from Quinn's earnest gaze. "Only because I call you at every intermission." Her recently formed habit doesn't completely erase her worry that something might happen to Quinn and their baby while she's otherwise engaged, but it does offer her enough peace of mind to get through the last months of her contract without demanding that Quinn actually accompany her to the theatre everyday so that Rachel can have someone keep an eye on her.

Quinn gently tips up her chin, urging Rachel's gaze back to her. "I know that, Rachel. I realized it a few months ago."  _Of course she would have_ , Rachel thinks. Her wife is extremely intelligent—and is also intimately acquainted with every one of Rachel's idiosyncrasies and neuroses. "I think it's kind of sweet," Quinn admits, "because it's you checking up on me without attempting to micromanage my every move."

"It's not your  _every_ move," Rachel argues. "Just the potentially strenuous ones."

"And yet you haven't suggested that we stop having sex," Quinn teases, lips curling into a knowing smirk.

An involuntarily bark of laughter slips past Rachel's defenses. "I've learned the hard way not to come between a pregnant woman and her cravings." Not that she really wants to circumvent that particular craving—and in any case, she's already done very thorough research on how to accomplish all of the orgasms that her wife craves in the least exertive way for both Quinn and their baby.

Quinn blushes slightly, no doubt recalling some of her more extreme reactions to being deprived of said cravings, before she rolls her eyes. "Then think of my need to clean and pack as a pregnancy craving. You know, the whole nesting thing," she adds, absently gesturing around the apartment.

Rachel's eyes narrow on her wife. "While I don't dismiss that as something that you are, in fact, experiencing, I'm fully aware that you're only equating it to packing in order to win this particular argument." Quinn dreads all of the work that they still have to do for this move just as much as Rachel does.

"Are we arguing?" Quinn asks innocently. "It really feels like more of a discussion to me."

"Don't try to distract me with semantics," Rachel warns, shaking a finger at Quinn. "I'm perfectly aware that we have a finite amount of time to get ready for this move and I am thereby forced to concede that we won't be able to cram everything that still needs to be done into the few hours that I'm home with you, but I also know that I'll be a basket case at the theatre everyday if I have to think about you here packing things up by yourself."

"So what do you suggest?" Quinn asks, crossing her arms under her breasts and letting that eyebrow of hers inch up in challenge.

"I have two options for you," Rachel informs her, having just had a flash of inspiration for a compromise that might appease them both. "One, and this is my personal preference," she reveals, holding up her index finger. "If you feel there is something you absolutely positively need to accomplish right away and thus can't wait for me to be present, then we get someone to come over to help you pack during my absence, whether it be Santana or Kurt or Josie or Mrs. Hutchinson from down the hall."

"You did  _not_  just suggest getting me a babysitter!" Quinn hisses, obviously affronted.

Rachel ignores her outburst, letting a second finger join the first. "Or two, and I'm significantly less enamored with this option," she confesses with a small frown. "I call you before and after every Act in addition to my current call at intermission, and I'll request that Bernie call you every thirty minutes while I'm on stage."

"Rachel," Quinn huffs. "You are not asking your production manager to check up on me. If it will make you feel better, you can call me once or twice from the theatre if you get the chance, and I'll happily tell you that I'm fine. That  _we're_ fine," she adds, uncrossing her arms to place her hands on her belly.

Rachel mimics the gesture, resting her left hand beneath Quinn's as she searches hazel eyes imploringly. "Will you at least consider option one?"

"I don't need a babysitter," Quinn asserts peevishly.

"I'm thinking more along the lines of an extra set of hands to help you with any necessary tasks who could also get you to the hospital if, God forbid, the need arises while simultaneously making certain that I'm promptly notified. It's a win-win," she boasts, flashing a wide, encouraging smile.

Quinn falls silent at that, catching her lower lip between her teeth as she digests the benefits of Rachel suggestion. Then she shakes her head. "Santana would be more of a hindrance than a help."

"That means you're considering it," Rachel crows, relieved that Quinn is finally seeing reason—and if it means they can get the apartment packed up and sparkling clean faster, that's even better.

"Only barely considering," Quinn cautions with an amusement, shifting her hand to cover Rachel's. "Our friends have lives of their own, Rachel. Even if I would agree to this, which I'm not," she's quick to caution, "I doubt you'd be able to convince someone to show up here every day."

"Oh, that's what you think," Rachel counters easily, turning her palm over to lift Quinn's hand to her lips and press a kiss to the backs of her fingers. "Or have you forgotten that my fathers currently have no life of their own to speak of beyond the anticipation of their first grandchild?"

Quinn's smile slips away as she lets her hand fall back to her side. "Crap."

"This will be perfect, Quinn," Rachel assures her, bouncing up on her toes to peck Quinn's pouting lips. "I'll work out a schedule with our friends and supplement it with Dad and Daddy when the need arises." And she may already have a mental jumpstart on that schedule after having called around to discuss their availability for their moving day. "They get to feel useful, you get to have more help, and I get the peace of mind of knowing that you and our baby are taken care of in my absence."

"I haven't agreed to this," Quinn reminds her stubbornly, crossing her arms again.

"But you will." Rachel dismisses her protest with a wave of her hand.

Quinn's pout intensifies. "I  _won't_."

"You  _will_ ," Rachel corrects, wrapping her arms around her adorable wife, "because you love me, you know I'm right, and you secretly want the help."

"I do love you," Quinn confirms, relaxing into Rachel's embrace, "but you're only half right, and I'm not about to let you coerce your dads or our friends into babysitting me."

It's Rachel's turn to pout at that. "But Quinn…"

"How about this?" Quinn counters, uncrossing her arms to slip them around Rachel's waist again. " _We_  get as much done together as we can before you leave for your shows, and  _I_  agree to not lift anything over ten pounds..."

"Five," Rachel interrupts tenaciously.

"Ten," Quinn repeats firmly, squeezing Rachel's hips in punctuation. "You can keep obsessively calling to check in on me, and our friends and family can help us out on moving day."

Rachel frowns. "But that's basically what we're already doing."

"Exactly," Quinn agrees with a smirk before quickly pecking Rachel's lips. "Except I'm agreeing to be even more careful when you're not here."

It's not what Rachel would prefer, but she understands that this is as far as Quinn is willing to concede tonight. "You can be very stubborn," she complains with a dramatic sigh.

Quinn laughs. "Pot and kettle, sweetheart," she says, kissing Rachel for a second time.

Rachel is already plotting ways to convince their friends and family to stop by for a few unannounced visits over the next week or two—Quinn can hardly object to that—so she supposes she can indulge her wife by letting her believe that she's won this round. "You think you're so cute," she murmurs against Quinn's lips.

"So do you," Quinn flirts shamelessly before putting her mouth to better use.

It's the truth, of course, so Rachel kisses her back without any argument, and soon enough, Quinn's fingers are tightening into the material of Rachel's shirt as she attempts to pull her even closer. An aroused moan vibrates between them, and Rachel has a feeling that she's just sparked one of those familiar pregnancy cravings in her wife. Her suspicions are confirmed when Quinn tears her mouth away, demanding that, "You need to take me to bed. Right now."

"I certainly won't object to getting you off your feet," Rachel teases.

"All I heard is get me off," Quinn purrs, pushing Rachel in the direction of their bedroom.

Laughing, Rachel surrenders to her wife's demands. She's obviously very determined to undertake this particular activity tonight, and it's the one area in which Rachel is confident that she can properly take care of Quinn. She supposes she still has some time (and a plan) to make sure she's up to speed on all the others.


	2. From Under Your Shelter

 

"Let me guess…you're my lucky babysitter for the evening," Quinn drawls irritably when she opens the door of her brand new apartment to find Josie standing on the other side in jeans and a Detroit Tigers t-shirt that Quinn highly suspects belongs to Sarah. She tugs self-consciously on the hem of her own oversized maternity top, feeling more than a little nostalgic for the days when she could still pull off a form-fitting tee without feeling like the seams were about to burst.

The other woman flashes a contrite grin and holds up the green bag that she's carrying. "Just think of me as the charming delivery girl you decided to invite in."

Quinn eyes the Ladurée label on the bag with uncontrollable interest. "Are those macarons?"

"Six assorted and six chocolate caramels," Josie confirms, and Quinn barely manages to suppress an eager moan as she snatches the bag right out of Josie's hand, peeking inside to confirm that there are, in fact, twin green boxes tempting her from the bottom. "You mentioned having a craving for them the other day, so I decided to take a little shopping trip. I thought it might help get me in the door."

"It's the only thing that is," Quinn warns as she turns toward the kitchen, already dipping her hand into the bag to pull out one of the boxes. "I can't believe you let Rachel harass you into checking up on me."

"Please. I don't need to be harassed into visiting one of my dearest friends," Josie proclaims with a wave of her hand as she follows Quinn into the apartment. Quinn turns to look at her, raising an eyebrow in silent challenge until Josie grins sheepishly. "But…your wife  _can_  be kind of scary when she wants to be."

"So can I," Quinn reminds her, continuing to stare down her friend with disapproval. The laughter she receives in response is nowhere near the reaction that Quinn is hoping for.

"Nope. Not feeling it," Josie dismisses with a shake of her head as she slides onto the chair at the end of the breakfast bar and makes herself at home. "I think the whole maternal glow is dulling the effect." She gestures to Quinn with the same soft and gooey expression on her face that one might aim at a cute little puppy—or a baby.

Quinn deposits the bag onto the countertop with a huff. "Fuck you, Deveraux," she mutters with a frown, tearing off the lid of the box she's holding so she can dive in for a taste of chocolate caramel goodness to sooth her bruised ego. Her pregnancy should be making everyone even more afraid of pissing her off, not turning her into some harmless ball of fluff that needs a freaking babysitter!

"It's Cartwright-Deveraux now," Josie happily reminds her, "or it will be as soon as we actually file the paperwork."

"That's a mouthful," Quinn mumbles around her own. She really does love these macarons. They almost make up for the lack of respect she's currently receiving from both her wife  _and_  her friend.

"Tell me about it," Josie agrees, retrieving the second box of those airy delights from the bag in front of her, "but Sarah and I couldn't come to an agreement on which name to give up." She opens the box, revealing six more macarons in varying colors. "I offered to take hers, but she didn't want my parents to feel slighted."

"Sounds like Sarah," Quinn muses fondly, reaching for a second chocolate caramel macaron while simultaneously batting Josie's hand away from the pistachio one that she's attempting to steal from the other box. "I take it she didn't make the same offer."

"No, she did," Josie informs her. "But then I started to feel guilty about her giving up her name and suggested we both keep our own instead, but that just felt like we weren't even acknowledging our marriage, so we finally agreed to go with the hyphen." She points questioningly at the vanilla macaron and dutifully waits until Quinn reluctantly nods her permission.

"Maybe you should consider a portmanteau," Quinn suggests with a playful grin. "You could become the Deverights."

"Cute," Josie comments dryly, clearly unimpressed with the suggestion, before she takes a bite of the macaron, briefly closing her eyes in pleasure at the taste. Quinn sighs wistfully at the disappearance of one of her sweet treats, but she supposes she can sacrifice the vanilla one as compensation for her insane wife dragging Josie all the way back into Manhattan tonight.

Rachel certainly won't be getting any.

"Where is your better half anyway?" Quinn asks, surprised that the newlyweds aren't still attached at the hip. It's a Friday night, after all, and they should be enjoying their evening together.

"Working late, unfortunately," Josie pouts, wiping away a stray crumb from the corner of her lips. "She started working on a new project as soon as we got back from Ireland, so she'll probably be attached to her drafting table for the next couple of months."

Quinn frowns in sympathy. "Don't tell me the honeymoon's over already."

"More like on a temporary pause," Josie corrects with a smirk. "I don't like to interfere with my wife's creative streaks. They're incredibly sexy."

"Mmm. I know the feeling," Quinn murmurs in shared appreciation.

Josie chokes back a strangled laugh. "I'm choosing to interpret that as a reference to your  _own_  wife's creative streaks."

"What else would it be?" Quinn asks with her best innocent smile, having belatedly realized that she does have some latent experience with Sarah's bursts of artistic inspiration—though they hadn't ever affected Quinn in quite the same way that Rachel's do.

Luckily, Josie has a good sense of humor about the whole thing and very few jealous inclinations, so she lets Quinn off the hook for her potentially embarrassing admission. "So…what are we doing after you scarf down those macarons?" she teases, gesturing to the pistachio one now in Quinn's hand.

Blushing, Quinn slowly lowers the treat away from her mouth. " _I_  am unpacking the rest of the towels and sheets." And maybe that box of the good china and silverware currently taunting her from its place on the countertop behind her, but she doesn't mention that to Josie because, " _You_ are going home to wait for your wife."

"Nice try, but  _no_ ," Josie refutes, leaning back in her chair. "I mean, I already drove all the way out here, Quinn. I stopped on Madison Avenue to buy you macarons. I paid for a parking space. Twice," she adds, holding up two fingers for dramatic effect, and Quinn idly wonders if she's been taking lessons from Rachel on that front.

"You can afford it."

"It's the principle of the thing," Josie insists.

"I won't tell Rachel you left early," Quinn promises, suspecting that's the crux of the matter.

Rachel has somehow managed to guilt (or threaten) all of their friends and her fathers into showing up for  _surprise_  visits almost every day leading up to their move and now the day after as well—always when Rachel is  _coincidentally_  at the theatre. Quinn had figured out what was going on that very first Saturday afternoon when Santana had dropped by unannounced—an occurrence that really isn't all that unusual on its own but had been far too convenient on the heels of Rachel's insane idea to get her a babysitter. Santana had claimed to be bored because Teresa was working, and she hadn't actually offered to help with any of the cleaning or packing (other than the sex toys, which Quinn had refused to let her go anywhere near), but she sure as hell spent all day lounging around the apartment and generally annoying Quinn in the name of keeping her company.

Quinn had been—is still—a little pissed with this latest manifestation of Rachel's overprotective streak, especially after she'd been so certain that she'd successfully talked her wife down from this level of crazy.

"She'll know, Quinn," Josie declares gravely. "You  _know_ she'll know."

"I promise to protect you from her," Quinn vows just as seriously.

Josie rolls her eyes. "Just suck it up and let me help you."

Sighing in resignation, Quinn morosely bites into the macaron still in her hand in an attempt to make herself feel better. She can't even really bring herself to stay angry with Rachel, not when she knows that Rachel is only doing this because she cares so much about Quinn and their baby. And, though she's loathe to admit it, Quinn  _has_  mostly appreciated the company (and the help) while Rachel is working.

They'd gotten a good bit done yesterday, thanks in large part to the moving company bringing in all of the furniture and boxes for them, but not all of the furniture had ended up exactly where Quinn had wanted it, so there'd been some rearranging going on after the movers had left that ultimately delayed some of the unpacking.

Really, it's a new space, and Quinn couldn't possibly be expected to know exactly where she wanted every lamp and table and bookcase before first seeing them arranged in difference configurations. Sure, she'd felt a little bad asking Hiram and Leroy to move some of the heavier items, but Kurt and Peter and Harry are all young and fit and perfectly capable of repositioning a few chairs once or twice—or five times.

Even with their friends and family helping out most of yesterday, they still have a few boxes to empty and even more neatly stacked piles of stuff to put away before this apartment will stop feeling like a messy bargain warehouse after a clearance sale and more like a home.

"I just wish Rachel would trust me more," Quinn complains, dusting the macaron crumbs off her fingers.

"I don't think it's a matter of trust," Josie ventures carefully. "I think it's that she has absolutely no control over what's happening inside of you right now, and that terrifies her, so she's micromanaging all of the things that she can control in order to feel more secure in an uncertain situation."

That—is actually  _exactly_ what's happening. "When did you trade your law degree for a PhD?"

Josie chuckles. "I didn't, but I've seen enough clients come through my office on every part of the family planning spectrum to recognize what's driving Rachel, and I have a feeling you'd rather have a partner who cares too much than one who doesn't care enough."

"Which is precisely the reason I haven't strangled her yet," Quinn concedes flippantly, though it's the truth. Rachel has been every bit the loving, attentive, involved partner that Quinn has always dreamed of having by her side, and she doesn't want any of that to stop. She just wishes her wife could turn down the intensity dial on her constant coddling just a few notches.

"Because you're not enjoying the attention at all," Josie comments knowingly, not bothering to hide her amusement.

Quinn feels her cheeks heat. "I hate that you know that about me."

Josie nods sagely. "It's been kind of hard to miss over the years," she says with a perfectly straight face before she lets her cheerful smile shine through. "It's okay to let yourself enjoy being pampered, Quinn. I mean, you're growing a little human. That's hard work."

There's no resisting the smile that overtakes Quinn's face at the thought of her baby, and she presses a hand low on her belly where she can feel her daughter's restless movements. When she's able to push her pride away—and maybe also ignore her own inclination to control everything around her—she can admit that she mostly loves being spoiled by her wife. And her friends, she silently admits, eyes darting to those macarons.

"Well, since you're already here, and you did offer to help…"

"Point me to those boxes," Josie requests eagerly as she slides off the chair, and Quinn decides to do exactly that, snagging one more macaron on the way.

She and Josie eventually settle onto the sofa with two boxes (that Josie had moved in from the nursery-to-be) at their feet to unpack. Quinn can't deny that it's nice to have a friend here to talk to while they work together. She'd obviously rather be doing all of this with Rachel, but she also wants to get this apartment organized sooner rather than later, and she knows that Rachel is working just as hard between the move and her performances and the shopping and all of the errands that she insists on doing with Quinn.

It's also pretty wonderful to realize just how deeply their friends care about them—about  _her_. Hiram and Leroy had been expected—Quinn is carrying their first grandchild, after all, so of course she'd known they would drop everything for her—but to find out that Santana and Kurt and Josie and Sarah and Teresa and Harry and,  _damn it_ , even Peter Kendrick would all rearrange their schedules for her makes her feel so incredibly blessed and  _loved_.

And fuck!—now she's getting emotional again, and of course Josie notices and asks her if she's okay, and Quinn has to admit to being a big, blubbering mess of baby hormones.

It had happened at least a dozen times over the last two weeks while they'd been packing up their old apartment. Quinn would take down a photo or flip through an old journal or find a trinket that Rachel had given her years ago and she'd have to pause and battle the overwhelming wave of emotion that had crashed over her. They'd made so many amazing memories in that apartment in Murray Hill—built their life there, started their marriage there, conceived their daughter (kind of) there—and saying goodbye to it had left Quinn sobbing, especially when she'd had to watch Rachel tearfully paint over the green infinity symbol that had been on their bedroom wall since the very first morning they'd lived there. Well— _watch_  in the figurative sense since Rachel had waited until the very last moment to do it and hadn't actually allowed Quinn to be in the room at the time due to the paint fumes (and possibly the blubbering mess of baby hormones).

They've decided not to repaint the symbol here, letting it stay unique to their first home, but the meaning behind it will be forever tattooed across their hearts. They'll make new memories in this apartment, written into the walls with love as their family grows.

Josie has to grab her a Kleenex—once Quinn directs her to where they are—and she brings the entire box back with a sympathetic smile, sinking onto the sofa and wrapping an arm around Quinn's shoulder while she waits for her to compose herself.

"Sorry," Quinn mutters embarrassedly. "Pregnancy hormones are hell," she admits with a wet chuckle, dabbing at her eyes with the Kleenex, "but don't tell Rachel I said that," she warns, shooting a red-rimmed glare at Josie. "She's never allowed to use that as an excuse to not take me seriously."

Josie grins and promises, "It'll be our secret."

Quinn keeps the box of Kleenex close to her—just in case—and it proves to be a good idea when she ends up needing to discreetly reach for another one when Oliver eventually finds the courage to venture out from the bathroom he's been hiding in since he'd arrived here late last night.

Rachel thinks he'd chosen that room because it's the one that reminds him most of the old apartment.

He'd been fairly good for them while they'd been packing—more curious to jump into the boxes than concerned about what they meant—but he'd been noticeably confused by Wednesday morning when literally everything familiar to him had been packed away or wrapped in plastic except for his food and water bowls. And then he'd seen the cat carrier come out and had informed them—very loudly—how he felt about that.

They hadn't wanted to risk having him underfoot when the movers came, so they'd broken down and asked Teresa and Santana to take him early Thursday morning, only because their place was closest to the new apartment and Teresa didn't mind confining him in the room she was using for an art studio as long as she locked her canvases in the closet first. It had felt like the best option after Kurt had voiced some very strong objections to trusting Ollie alone in his apartment with all of his expensive furniture and fabrics for any extended period of time.

Even Oliver's affection for Teresa hadn't calmed him enough to stop him from wearing down his meow to the same faint squeak that he'd had when Rachel had first brought him home all those years ago.

And when they'd finally brought him into his new home late last night, he'd darted out of the cat carrier only to freeze in the middle of the unfamiliar living room with a sickly, pathetic mewl that had broken everyone's hearts—even Santana's—before he'd franticly scrambled from one corner of the apartment to another, looking for anything familiar, until he'd finally taken up residence in the bathtub and refused to come out even after Rachel had rattled his food bowl several times.

He'd at least been outside of the bathtub this morning, sitting on top of the toilet with an accusatory glare when they'd checked in on him, and he's seemed willing enough to eat today as long as his food bowl is brought to him in the bathroom.

Quinn is so relieved to see that his naturally curious nature and desire to greet Josie is enough to outweigh his trepidation over his new home. Josie easily lifts him up into her lap, and he lets her stroke a gentle hand over his still ruffled fur as she softly coos to him about all the new spaces he'll get to explore here. Ollie eventually settles down with a stuttered purr even while he eyes Quinn judgmentally, and when she reaches over to lightly scratch at his whiskered cheek, his eyes slip shut in contentment and he tips up his chin to direct her to just the right spot.

She wants to cry again in happiness at the small sign that he's not, in fact, going to hate her forever for disrupting his comfortable life.

That's more or less how Rachel finds them when she eventually gets home from the theatre. Josie and Quinn have been doing more chatting than unpacking for the last hour or so—mostly about Josie and Sarah's adventures in Europe—though they have managed to get all of the towels and linens folded and put away in their proper drawers and closets. Oliver has long since shifted into the space between the arm of the sofa and Quinn's thigh. It's as close as he's willing get to her lap now that there's a baby bump encroaching on his preferred resting place.

It's a sign of how upset he still is that he doesn't even budge when Rachel walks through the door or make one attempt at a weak chirp to demand his late night snack.

"Josie? What a pleasant surprise," Rachel feigns fairly convincingly when she enters the living room.

"Don't even try it, Rachel," Quinn admonishes, crossing her arms and scowling up at her wife. "We all know you asked her to come over."

Rachel bites her lip sheepishly, glancing at the floor. "Technically, I asked her  _and_  Sarah what their plans were for this evening, and when Sarah claimed to be working…"

"Which she is," Josie is quick to defend her wife's honor.

"I merely suggested to Josie that tonight would be a perfect opportunity for the two of you to enjoy some quality friend time together," Rachel finishes, flashing a proud smile as she spreads her arms wide to encompass the sight of them sitting side-by-side on the sofa. "And so you are." Her gaze catches on the corner of the cushion then, and her smile instantly turns excited. "And oh, my God! You got Oliver to come out of the bathroom!" she squeals happily, moving to squat down in front of Quinn and cradle Oliver's face between her palms. "There's my brave little guy," she fusses, stroking her thumbs over his ears. "Did you come say  _hello_  to Josie?"

Josie chokes back her laughter, gracefully pushing herself up off the sofa. "He did, but now I think it's time to say  _goodbye_ to her. It's getting late." It's creeping up on midnight, and Josie still has to drive all the way back to Queens.

Rachel stands easily, turning to offer Josie a warm smile. "Thank you so much for stopping by, Josie. I'm forever in your debt."

Quinn glares incredulously her wife while Josie waves her off. "Totally unnecessary. It was absolutely my pleasure."

"Don't encourage her," Quinn demands, pressing her palms against the cushion as she struggles to stand.

Rachel reaches for her immediately. "Here…let me help you, baby."

"I think you've helped enough," Quinn grumbles, though it doesn't prevent her from taking Rachel's hand and using it for leverage to pull herself up. The moment she's on her feet, Oliver instantly recoils back into the furthest corner of the sofa, curling himself up into a tight little ball of fur, but at least he doesn't make a break back to the bathroom.

"That really is my cue to leave," Josie announces with an indulgent grin as she watches them. "I had fun tonight, Quinn," she promises, opening her arms for a hug that Quinn is only too happy to give her. "We can do it anytime. I might even be able to tear Sarah away from her drafting table next time."

"I'd like that," Quinn assures her, stepping back. "As long as  _I'm_  the one inviting you," she amends, aiming a pointed look at Rachel.

Josie laughs, nodding her agreement. "I'll keep that in mind." She turns to Rachel, biting back her grin. "You're not allowed to invite me over anymore, Rachel," she states with mock seriousness, welcoming a hug from her as well that Rachel provides without hesitation.

"I'm afraid that I'm not very good following arbitrary rules," she warns with an unrepentant grin as she steps back.

"Or curbing your obsessive single-mindedness," Quinn adds conversationally, watching Rachel's grin slip into a small pout.

"I'm exceedingly goal oriented, Quinn," she corrects haughtily before her lips curve into a sly smile and she leans closer, "and we both know you love that about me."

"Ninety-five percent of the time," Quinn qualifies, frowning when she realizes that Rachel has recited the familiar words nearly in sync with her.

Laughing at their antics, Josie tosses up her hands and starts for the door. "I'm leaving now. You two can resume your foreplay when I'm safely out the door."

The jest hardly even fazes Quinn. For once, she can safely say that she really isn't in the mood.

Rachel playfully sticks her tongue out at Quinn before spinning on her heel to follow their friend to the foyer—ever conscious of being a good hostess—and Quinn trails behind her so they can both say their goodnights to Josie and wish her a safe drive back to Queens.

Once they close the door and are alone in the apartment for the evening, she points an accusatory finger at Rachel. "I'm still upset with you. So upset that I'm not sharing even one of the macarons Josie brought me from Ladurée."

Rachel gasps in shocked dismay, pressing a hand to her chest. "Quinn Fabray! That's uncalled for."

Quinn turns her back on Rachel with a huff and pads back towards the sofa where she tiredly sinks down into the cushions next to Oliver, reaching over to sift her fingers through his soft fur. It works wonders for keeping her calm.

Rachel follows her with a mildly apprehensive expression, nervously licking her lips. "I know you still don't approve of my methods…"

"Your  _methods_  are borderline insane, Rachel."

"…But I know you enjoyed having Josie here tonight," she continues undeterred, gingerly sitting on the edge of the sofa next to Quinn and laying a hand on her arm. "And I felt better knowing she was here.  _And_ ," she gestures to the empty boxes beside the sofa with a cautious smile, "you got two more boxes unpacked. Is that really such a terrible thing?"

Quinn sighs, shaking her head as she turns to face her wife. "Browbeating our friends into manual labor isn't exactly a  _good_ thing."

"There was no beating of brows involved," Rachel swears, crossing her heart in a clear attempt to be cute. Quinn hates how easily it works. "Our friends just really want to help make this move as easy as possible for us, and you know we'd do the same for them if the situation was reversed. In fact, we already have," she reminds Quinn, referring to the handful of occasions over the past several years when they'd helped move their friends into new apartments or in with significant others, "and we probably will again if they ever decide to upsize for a growing family," she gently touches Quinn's stomach to emphasize her point, "if not for Josie and Sarah, then for Kurt and Harry or Santana and Teresa."

Rachel really isn't wrong about that. Quinn knows that she'd be inclined to help out any one of their friends—even Peter, though that one would be more for Aileen's sake—even without feeling obligated to return all of these favors they're being given. But, "They have to get off their asses and get married first before they can start having babies and moving to bigger places."

"Not necessarily," Rachel disputes with an amused shrug, letting her hand fall back into her lap. "Although, I'm not sure I want to envision any version of Santana spawning."

Quinn feels a smile tugging at her lips at the thought of a few devilish little Lopezes putting her oldest friend through the wringer. "You know she'll end up being the most badass mom someday." Santana hasn't come out and said it, but Quinn gets the sense that the whole family thing might very well happen one day if Santana ever decides to actually put a ring on Teresa's finger.

"Not as badass as  _you_  already are," Rachel counters with a sweet smile, tangling their fingers together.

"If I'm so badass, maybe you can trust me to stay home by myself tomorrow," Quinn suggests with an arched brow. When Rachel glances away guiltily, Quinn groans. "Who's coming over?"

Rachel clears her throat. "Kurt might be bringing our dresses for the Tonys."

"Rachel, you really need to stop doing this." Quinn's patience is wearing really thin with this constant supervision.

"I know," she admits regretfully. "But he'll only be here during the matinee. He's taking Harry to some stupid Cary Grant film festival tomorrow night, so he can't stay," she complains testily, making it very clear to Quinn that her wife had already tried and failed to convince him to change his plans.

"And who do you have coming when he leaves?" Quinn demands.

"No one," Rachel swears.

"Rachel?" Quinn prompts skeptically.

Rachel stares at her for a long moment before shaking her head. "Okay...so I may have invited Shelby and Beth to stop by this weekend to see the new apartment, but Shelby said it probably wouldn't be before Sunday because she wants to give us time to settle in and she prefers to come when I'm here anyway," she rambles with one breath. "But otherwise  _no one_ ," she repeats, employing a well-practiced (and very effective) sad puppy expression. "I thought you'd be happy to have Beth visit."

Quinn sighs, shaking her own head. Rachel isn't wrong about that. "I'm calling Shelby and telling her to come for brunch on Sunday. If she and Beth want to stay for a while after you leave for the theatre, I won't object."

"That's acceptable," Rachel promptly agrees, lifting their joined hands to hold them over her heart. "And I promise that tomorrow evening will be all yours to do with as you please, though I'm really hoping you'll choose to relax and take it easy in our new apartment this weekend," she suggests hopefully. "We can unpack the last of the boxes in the morning, and then we'll have all day and night on Monday to fuss over the placement of every photo and book and frying pan."

Quinn's mouth curves into a faint smile at her wife's earnestness. And really—it would be wonderful to just take it easy and unwind for a day or two. They still have so much to do before the baby comes, but the last few weeks really have been incredibly stressful, and Quinn has been reluctant to admit to the ache in her lower back that nags at her every time she stays on her feet for too long.

"I promise to relax for the next two days if you promise me there'll be no more surprise visitors."

Rachel frowns. "I can't be held accountable if any of our friends take it upon themselves to stop by unannounced."

"Are any of them currently planning to do that at your suggestion?" Quinn asks suspiciously.

Rachel shakes her head. "No one but Kurt," she promises, taking Quinn's hand between both of hers as she solemnly gazes into her eyes. "But I will be calling you four or five times a day in my absence, and if you don't answer by the fourth ring, I have an emergency plan in place."

Quinn has very little doubt that she's telling the truth about that. "You'd better be factoring bathroom breaks and naps into this emergency plan of yours. I'll be so pissed at you if some EMT breaks down the door while I'm in the shower."

Rachel inhales sharply through her nose. "I may need to slightly amend my plan."

Quinn laughs, shaking her head as she lifts the hand not currently being held between Rachel's to cup her cheek. "You're ridiculous," she murmurs, stroking her thumb over a ruddy cheekbone, "but I love you anyway.

Her wife's expression goes soft as she leans into Quinn's touch. "I love you too, baby."

This is what Quinn had signed on for when she'd given her heart to Rachel Berry, and despite the moments when Rachel makes her question her own sanity, Quinn has never once regretted any of it. The love that Rachel has given her in return is more than worth it.

They retire to their bedroom shortly after that, leaving Oliver still hunkered down on the sofa. It's entirely possible that he won't be moving from there for the rest of the night, but it's still an improvement over hiding in the bathroom. Quinn has faith that his curious nature will eventually win out and he'll be investigating every inch of the apartment before long.

While Rachel completes her nightly cleansing ritual in the master bathroom, Quinn changes into a loose sleepshirt and admires their new bedroom. The lights from the city shine in through the windows, and she makes a mental note to prioritize finding them some suitable blinds or curtains. She loves the light those windows provide in the daytime but not so much at night.

The bedroom is more or less arranged to her liking—she may have insisted that Kurt and Harry and Rachel's dads rearrange the bed and the dresser a time or two (or four) before she'd been content—but it still feels a little odd to her, like she and Rachel are on vacation in some fancy condo rather than spending their second night in their new home. She knows that feeling will eventually fade once she gets over the newness of it all.

She crawls into bed and shifts around in an attempt to get comfortable. It's a recurring struggle now that her belly seems to be getting in the way of everything, and she's been reacquainting herself with the art of pillow placement that she'd first discovered when she'd been well into her pregnancy with Beth. She only just manages to find an acceptable position on her side with a pillow between her knees before Rachel is stepping out of the bathroom and making her way to the bed, and Quinn takes a moment to appreciate her wife in the lowlight of the room.

Rachel's freshly scrubbed face and slightly mussed hair paired with the t-shirt (barely covering her panties) that she prefers when the weather turns warm makes her look like she's still seventeen. She's Quinn's naughtiest schoolgirl fantasy come to life, and the fact that her body isn't currently responding with its usual demand for immediate attention is a sign of just how exhausted Quinn suddenly feels. She's been doing her best to ignore it and power through everything that needs to be done, but she's pretty sure she's been running on adrenaline for the last couple of weeks, and now that they're finally moved in, she thinks she might be on the verge of a major crash.

She doesn't plan to tell Rachel that—at least not with anything resembling those words—but it is her prerogative as a pregnant woman to simply fall asleep on her wife, and she's already battling to keep her heavy eyes open when Rachel slides into bed next to her.

Quinn feels a light touch ghost over her belly as Rachel snuggles close to her—as close as she can get with a baby and extra pillows between them—and soft lips brush across her cheek. "Goodnight, baby. I love you."

Quinn sighs in contentment, breathing out a barely audible, "Love you too," as she sinks deeper into her pillow and surrenders to the irresistible pull of sleep.

_xx_

As promised—or perhaps threatened—Kurt appears on their doorstep with a large garment bag slung over his shoulder about forty-five minutes after Rachel leaves for her matinee on Saturday. As always, his hair is impeccably styled, and he looks more ready for a posh day on the town than a casual visit with a friend. Quinn lets him in with a sigh. "I guess you're here for your shift."

Kurt chuckles. "As instructed," he admits, stepping through the doorway before pressing a fleeting kiss to Quinn's cheek. "But don't worry. I'm not staying long," he promises as he moves deeper into the apartment, glancing back over his shoulder with a grin. "I trust that will be our little secret. I may be braver than most when it comes to withstanding a full-blown Rachel Berry meltdown, but I think we can both agree that what she doesn't know won't hurt me."

Quinn laughs, nodding. "My lips are sealed."

Kurt lays the garment bag across the back of the sofa before glancing around the apartment. "Everything looks like it's coming together beautifully." A small collection of personal items has been added to the living room since Kurt had been here on Thursday, though Quinn is still fussing with the placement of things. "I trust you've been settling in okay."

"We have," Quinn confirms with a smile. "And I want to thank you again for all your help."

Kurt waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, honey...I'm happy to do it." His smile widens. "And I'm even happier to deliver the custom made Kurt Hummel originals that you and our favorite Diva will be proudly wearing next weekend." He gestures to the garment bag with a flourish. "Just remember to tell every reporter and camera person exactly who designed your dresses, and we'll call it even."

Giggling, Quinn assures him, "We will certainly do that." They really do love having a fashion designer as a friend, and Rachel never fails to mention his name whenever anyone asks who she's wearing. Somehow, they'd managed to squeeze in their fittings between all of the packing and cleaning before the move, and Kurt has been keeping both of their dresses safe at his shop until they were officially moved into their new apartment—which, Quinn supposes, is now. She tips her chin in the direction of the garment bag. "Can I sneak another peak at them?"

Kurt claps excitedly. "I thought you'd never ask."

He quickly unzips the bag and carefully pulls out the dresses, and Quinn fingers the material appreciatively. Kurt had put her in a dress with an empire waist and a lot of extra material around the middle to accommodate her ever expanding waistline, and she only hopes it looks as good on her next Sunday as it had in his shop. Conversely, Rachel's dress is sophisticated and sexy and requires no extra material at all. The black and white fabric is (thankfully) a far cry from the gold lamé that Rachel had originally requested (and been talked down from), and Quinn can't wait to watch her wife win her next Tony in it.

After safely tucking the dresses back inside the garment bag, Quinn offers Kurt a drink that he happily accepts before they sit down to chat for a little while. They're not nearly as close as he and Rachel are, but she considers him family nonetheless, and she truly appreciates having him in her life—even without the deeply discounted designer dresses he creates for them.

True to his word, he doesn't stay more than an hour, giving her a hug before he leaves, and Quinn has to admit (but not to Rachel) that she enjoys his visit.

Neither one of them informs Rachel that he left two hours before his agreed upon time, and Quinn gets to enjoy the rest of her Saturday in peaceful solitude.

Sunday is a different story entirely.

Shelby does end up accepting the invitation to brunch. Quinn suspects it's primarily because Beth is impatient to see their new apartment, but the fact that Shelby had insisted that they visit when Rachel would be present tells her that she's still trying to improve her relationship with her oldest daughter. The quilt she'd given them for the baby had helped, but it's not enough to magically erase the years of polite distance between the women. Neither does the box of banana walnut muffins that Shelby brings as a housewarming gift—though Quinn isn't about to refuse them. She does fleetingly wonder why exactly everyone feels the need to bring her food lately.

Beth immediately greets her with a quick, easy hug, patting Quinn's belly with an affectionate, "Hi, baby," as she pulls away, and Quinn feels a rush of warmth at the gesture. She'd been so worried that Beth would hold this pregnancy against her—that she'd be jealous or upset with Quinn—but she's been nothing but curious about Quinn's pregnancy and excited to meet the new baby.

Beth immediately flits over to Rachel with a carefree smile, giving her a similar hug without the belly pat. "Hi, Rachel."

"Hello, Beth," Rachel returns with an indulgent grin.

"Mom and I got our dresses for the Tonys yesterday," she boasts as she lets go of Rachel, eyes sparkling with excitement. "I'm totally ready for you to introduce me to everyone famous."

Rachel laughs delightedly, even while Shelby gently admonishes her daughter. "Beth, we're not going just so you can meet celebrities."

Beth rolls her eyes in a painfully familiar way. "I  _know_ , Mom. We're gonna watch Rachel kick butt and bring home the best actress win." Quinn doesn't know how Rachel's smile can possibly get any bigger, but somehow it does, even after Beth impishly adds, "Meeting celebrities is just an extra perk."

Rachel laughs again, shaking her head. "Well, at least you have your priorities straight."

"Mom raised me right," Beth agrees with a nod.

Quinn feels an odd mix of happy and sad for the choice she'd made so long ago that had made Shelby Beth's  _mom_ , and when her eyes meet Rachel's, she has the sense that her wife is feeling something similar. Both of their missed mother-daughter opportunities live in the very same place.

The proud little grin on Shelby's lips as she looks at Beth turns noticeably wistful when her gaze strays to Rachel, and Quinn can guess that she's living with her own mixed bag of emotions when it comes to their unusual family dynamics.

"So can we see the apartment now?" Beth asks eagerly, already glancing around with interest. "You guys have an extra room here right? I could totally be your sleepover babysitter on the weekends."

"Yeah, that's not happening until you're at least sixteen," Shelby firmly denies. "There will be no unsupervised sleepovers in the city."

"Aw, Mom," Beth groans in disappointment.

"But you  _can_  come visit if you'd like," Quinn is quick to assure her, glancing at Shelby, "as long as your mother approves."

Shelby nods, giving Quinn and appreciative smile. " _That_ , I have no problem with," she agrees, smoothing a hand over Beth's hair. "Although you might need to rethink the  _sleep_  part of your sleepover plans once the baby is here. They tend to wake you up at all hours of the night and day with their crying."

A thoughtful frown mars Beth's face, as if she hadn't actually considered that babies cry until right this minute.

"I'm confident that our daughter will be the exception," Rachel states with a determined smile—one that falls into a frown as soon as she hears Quinn and Shelby laughing. If their daughter is anything like Rachel, she'll loudly demand to be the center of attention at all hours of the day and night, and Quinn will love every minute of giving it to her. (Well—maybe not  _every_  minute. She's hoping they'll be able to get at least a few hours of sleep now and then.)

"Come along, Beth," Rachel prompts with an exasperated huff, holding out a hand in invitation. "I'll give you the grand tour while your  _mothers_ have their little laugh."

Beth shrugs, grinning again as she places her hand into Rachel's. "Cool with me."

Quinn can't say that she feels particularly chastised, and she shares an indulgent smile with Shelby before they follow along on the tour. It doesn't actually take very long—this apartment might be larger than their last, but it's not exactly a penthouse suite. They're still short on furniture to fill the extra rooms, and there isn't even anything but boxes in the nursery yet.

"We still have so much left to do," Rachel admits with a sigh. "I'm not sure moving so close to Quinn's due date was the wisest decision we could have made."

"If anyone can handle the challenge, it's you," Shelby encourages, aiming a faint smile at Rachel. "And if you need help, don't be afraid to call." There's a brief pause in which she takes a visible breath, looking uncertain before venturing, "That's what grandmothers are for, right?"

The smile Rachel gives her in return is hesitant—nearly as shaky as this new ground they're walking on—but it's genuine.

They sit down for brunch after that, letting Beth drive the conversation with her laments about school taking forever to end for the summer. Whatever progress Shelby and Rachel might be making isn't quite enough to allow either one of them to completely drop their guards and relax in the other's presence, but these little get-togethers aren't nearly as painful as they used to be when Quinn and Rachel had first started dating.

Quinn sometimes wonders if Rachel's old wounds will ever heal enough to let her fully mend her strained relationship with Shelby, but there's an olive branch between them now in the form of the baby Quinn is carrying—Shelby's first grandchild—and she can only hope it will continue to blossom for all of their sakes.

When all is said and done, Quinn silently declares the day to be a success—especially when no other unexpected visitors appear at her door after Shelby and Beth eventually say their goodbyes. There are only Rachel's repeated, obsessive phone calls from the theatre before and after both her performances and during the intermissions for Quinn to contend with, so she happily counts it as a win.

_xx_

Quinn's twenty-eight week check-up is the first Wednesday after their move, bright and early in the morning to accommodate Rachel's schedule. Rachel hasn't missed a single appointment yet, and Quinn knows that she isn't about to start now, so they put the post-move organization on hold and take a taxi to Doctor Barnes's office in Greenwich Village.

They're early, so they take a seat in the waiting room across from the one other woman in the office—young and heavily pregnant and alone—and Quinn finds herself surreptitiously searching for a ring on the woman's left hand. She can't seem to help herself. She can remember sitting alone in a doctor's office during the last few months of her pregnancy with Beth, unwilling to share the experience with Puck in all his immaturity and reluctant to burden Mercedes with the extra responsibility after how amazing she'd been to offer Quinn a place to stay. There had been more than a few older couples staring at her with varying degrees of disapproval or pity in their eyes, and she silently chastises herself for doing the same thing now. Even after she sees the glint of a gold band circling the woman's finger, Quinn can't help feeling a twinge of sympathy because she's here alone while Quinn finally has the loving and attentive partner at her side that she's always wanted.

Feeling grateful, Quinn abandons her curious assessment of the other woman and turns her gaze to Rachel, whose knee is predictably bouncing with nervous energy as she quietly hums some indecipherable melody. Grinning, Quinn reaches out to curl her fingers around Rachel's hand where it rests on her lap, and Rachel immediately tangles their fingers together even as she glances at Quinn quizzically.

"I'm glad you're here with me," Quinn responds to her unspoken question.

An amused huff slips past Rachel's lips. "Where else would I be?"

"Absolutely nowhere," Quinn answers with confidence, knowing that Rachel could be nowhere else but right here beside her. It's all the more special to Quinn because Rachel doesn't actually  _need_  to be here. Quinn hasn't been experiencing any problems with this pregnancy. The glucose challenge test she'd taken at her last appointment had come back normal, so there's no need to monitor Quinn for gestational diabetes at this point. She and Rachel both have positive blood types, so Quinn won't need the RhoGAM injection today. And Rachel had undergone a screening prior to their fertility treatments to ensure that she isn't a carrier for Tay-Sachs disease. This is just a routine monthly appointment, but Rachel had still insisted on coming with her and is still just as beautifully nervous about it as she had been at the very first one.

The nurse eventually pokes her head out the door and calls for, "Emily," and the other woman awkwardly pushes up from her seat to follow her back. Quinn guesses she must be close to nine months along—either that or she's having twins. Quinn is glad she isn't quite that big yet, but she knows it's only a matter of weeks until she is.

Rachel tilts her head thoughtfully as she watches the woman disappear into the exam area. "Emily is a lovely name. Soft and melodic," she muses with a tender smile. "Why isn't that one on our list yet?"

"Maybe because you've been too busy pushing for Lucy."

"I'm serious," Rachel admonishes with a swift tug on Quinn's hand.

Light laughter tickles the air between them before Quinn admits, "I like Emily. It's the name of one my favorite poets, after all."

Rachel's eyes shine with affection. "I know."

Quinn is certainly not opposed to naming their daughter in honor of Emily Dickinson, but she also doesn't have the immediate sense that it's the perfect name for their little girl. She wonders if maybe they'll need to wait until they actually meet her before they'll know what name really fits her best. "Does the meaning meet your rigid standards?" she teases, grinning.

Rachel purses her lips for a moment. "I…don't actually know," she confesses with an adorable look of consternation. "I need to look it up." She fumbles for her purse in search of her phone, and Quinn bites back her laughter at her wife's single-minded determination.

"Does it really matter?" she wonders, watching Rachel clumsily type on her phone with one hand—reluctant to relinquish her hold on Quinn's. "What if I really want to name her after another of my favorite authors? Something like Austen or Harper?"

Rachel pauses her googling to glance at Quinn. "Harper also happens to be musical name," she points out. "It means harpist, and while that isn't exactly inspirational, I could possibly live with it."

"Really?" Quinn asks in suprise, though she's honestly not interested in naming their daughter that.

"No," Rachel scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Harper sounds far too pretentious, and I know you're not actually serious about it because you would never give our baby the same name as your former employer."

Rachel isn't wrong about that, though Quinn hadn't even made that particular connection when she'd picked it for an example. "What about Austen? I doubt that means anything outside of the literary world."

"Austen is a boy's name."

Quinn's eyebrow inches up. "It's unisex. You know…like  _Quinn_."

"Which is your  _middle_  name," Rachel counters with a winning smile, "so we can certainly discuss adding Austen to the list of potential middle names if you'd like…right along with  _Lucy_."

It's not like Quinn  _hates_  her given name. She never had. She'd only hated the reminder of the unhappy little girl she used to be and that unfortunate rhyme her classmates had used to disparage her ass. Quinn had chosen to write under the name Lucy because that's who she'd been when she'd fallen in love with literature, joyfully leaping into each new amazing world that every book had revealed, and that's who Quinn lets out to play when she's at her computer typing out the words to create her own unique universe. Quinn kind of loves Lucy. She just thinks that naming their daughter after herself would be a little bit weird.

But Quinn decides to let that subject drop for now. "I'd rather know what list Emily is going on…if any."

"Oh," Rachel breathes out, jerking her eyes back to her phone and tapping the screen. "Industrious or striving," she recites diligently before glancing back at Quinn. "Also not precisely inspirational, but it's a good, solid name. I think we should consider it."

"I think so too," Quinn agrees, smiling.

"I'll add it," Rachel announces, already one-handedly typing it into her phone.

"You know, this is probably the reason Emily wasn't on the list already," Quinn realizes with an indulgent grin, causing Rachel to look up from her phone again in silent question. "We keep having ten minute debates over every name either one of us suggests."

"It's our daughter's  _name_ , Quinn!" Rachel exclaims, as if that's explanation enough, and Quinn supposes it is. After all, their little girl is going to have it for the rest of her life. Quinn wants it to mean something. She'd let Puck pick Beth's name from a Kiss song about a rock star ignoring his lover, and as much as she adores her daughter, she's still not entirely sure that was a wise decision.

The door opens again and the nurse calls Quinn's name, effectively ending their discussion. Rachel quickly stuffs her phone back into her purse and scrambles from her chair so she can hold out her hands to help Quinn stand. Quinn gratefully accepts the help, and they follow the nurse back.

The first stop is the scale. Quinn cringes as she watches the weight tip further and further to the right, and she tries to remember that this is perfectly normal and healthy—she isn't actually turning back into the fat little pig she used to be, even if she did eat nearly a dozen macarons all by herself last weekend along with more than one of those muffins that Shelby had brought. The nurse doesn't make any comments when the scale finally settles, only typing her new weight into the iPad she'd carried back before leading Quinn and Rachel into an exam room.

"Go ahead and hop up on the table," she instructs flippantly. Hopping up is not nearly as easy as it used to be, and Quinn is once again grateful for Rachel's hand to steady her while she shuffles onto the exam table.

There's a blood pressure cuff around her arm the moment Rachel steps away, and Quinn silently wonders how anyone in the medical profession expects to get an accurate reading when they barely let a person get settled and take a breath before pumping up the cuff.

"One twenty-six over eighty," the nurse reads before taking off the cuff. It's a little higher than normal for Quinn, but she knows it's still within a normal range—especially when her heart rate goes up just from getting on the table.

The nurse records her reading on the iPad and then asks Quinn the standard follow-up questions about her diet and exercise and what medications and vitamins she's taking, pausing to make more notes on Quinn's chart after every answer before informing them that Doctor Barnes will be with them shortly.

 _Shortly_  is closer to fifteen minutes, and Rachel alternates between studying the pregnancy charts on the walls that she's already studied at least a dozen times and wondering out loud which baby boutique carries the safest furniture and if they should paint the nursery a different color. Their lease allows for it—as long as they paint everything back to white should they ever decide move out.

"You mean you'd actually let me near paint fumes in my  _delicate condition_ ," Quinn teases, recalling the way she'd been barred from the room during their last little encounter with paint.

Rachel freezes, looking suddenly horrified by the very notion. "On second thought, wallpaper might be best."

Quinn shakes her head. "I was kidding, Rachel. The doors close and the windows open. I can easily avoid the room for a couple of days while it airs out." She holds up a hand before Rachel can voice the protest that Quinn can clearly see on her lips. "We should paint it. White is a terrible color for a nursery."

"I was thinking of yellow," Rachel admits with a faint smile.

"Why am I not surprised?" Quinn laughingly asks, thinking of Rachel's childhood bedroom.

"Yellow is a very cheerful color, as you well know," Rachel defends indignantly.

"It's also very bright," Quinn points out, "but I could be open to considering a softer shade than the one you painted your walls back in Lima."

There's a long pause in which Rachel thoughtfully regards Quinn before she finally nods. "That's acceptable."

Quinn nods as well, although she already knows she'll be suggesting a few other colors—maybe a pale violet or a summery shade of green. She can't wait to see which one of them wins the color debate, and she wonders if she can convince Rachel to paint a few more rooms in the apartment after she does the nursery. Though she supposes there'll be time for that after the baby comes. Not everything has to be done all at once.

She's still thinking of various decorating possibilities when Doctor Barnes finally makes an appearance in the room, greeting them both with a friendly smile as she sits down on the rolling stool at the foot of the exam table. She starts off by asking Quinn how she's feeling and if she's been having any problems or concerns, just as she has at every appointment. Quinn's instinct is to not even mention any of the nuisance symptoms that come with pregnancy—the odd cravings, exhaustion, and minor swelling that she remembers all too well from her first experience. Rachel, however, doesn't have any such qualms and jumps at the opportunity to inform Doctor Barnes that Quinn has been having some back pain and is completely unrepentant in the face of Quinn's mild glare.

Doctor Barnes hums thoughtfully. "Some back pain isn't uncommon in the third trimester, but with your history, it's something we'll want to keep an eye on. Is it a sharp pain or more of a dull ache?"

Quinn slides a palm over her belly out of habit before she answers. "It's a dull ache…the same as before I got pregnant." Which is why she hasn't been particularly concerned about it. Obviously, Rachel has been, and if Quinn is being honest, "I'm just feeling it faster than I used to when I overdo it with the physical activities."

Doctor Barnes nods. "Are you exercising regularly?"

"I've been doing yoga, but it's been a little sporadic in the last couple of months," Quinn admits, briefly glancing at Rachel who's intently listening to every word. "We just moved into a new apartment, so that's pretty much been my main form of exercise recently."

"Ah," Doctor Barnes breathes out in understanding. "The stress of a move could certainly be a contributing factor."

"I told her she should be taking it easy and not lifting more than five pounds," Rachel informs their doctor. "She can be very stubborn."

Doctor Barnes chuckles while Quinn rolls her eyes, grumbling. "She'd have me on bed rest if she could."

"Well, I don't think that's necessary at this point," Doctor Barnes agrees in good humor, prompting a dissatisfied huff from Rachel. "But since you are noticing some discomfort now, definitely avoid lifting more than ten or fifteen pounds at max and, though I'm sure it doesn't need to be said, don't lift anything by bending at the waist," she instructs. Rachel looks torn between vindication at the restrictions and vexation that it's  _still_ not her preferred five pound limitation.

Quinn scoffs. "You say that like I'm even able to bend at the waist anymore."

Doctor Barnes laughs. "Well, just in case you're feeling particularly flexible, bend with your knees…or make Rachel do it for you," she advises with a wink, making Quinn laugh.

"She only has to ask," Rachel very seriously assures their doctor, and Quinn knows that asking isn't even a requirement with Rachel. If she's anywhere nearby, she's making certain that Quinn isn't lifting, bending, stretching, or struggling with any attempt to sit, stand, or lie down.

"Even if you're not lifting a single thing," Doctor Barnes addresses Quinn, "you should try to get back into a scheduled routine with the yoga. It's a wonderful, low impact way to strengthen the back and legs, and it should help you manage some of those aches and pains as your belly gets bigger."

Quinn already knows the yoga will probably help. It always seemed to even before her pregnancy, and she was generally feeling better when she was keeping to a regular exercise routine—she doesn't think replacing the yoga with sex actually counts as regular exercise.

"And I also recommend walking for thirty minutes to an hour a day if you're able," Doctor Barnes continues. "You can break it up into ten minute intervals if you find that easier on your back. Not only will help lower the risks of gestational diabetes and preeclampsia, but it can actually help get the baby into the correct position and promote an easier labor."

"Well, I'm all for that," Quinn says with a laugh.

The rest of their appointment mostly consists of Doctor Barnes asking if they've looked into childbirth classes (which they have, finding a two-night class in July that works with Rachel's schedule) and discussing the importance of setting aside some time every day to count the baby's kicks so Quinn can recognize any changes in her activity. Quinn doesn't remember being told about that when she was pregnant with Beth, and while she already has a sense of when her unborn daughter is most active, she hasn't actually been keeping track of the kicks. When Doctor Barnes mentions a free app that's available to help, Rachel has it downloaded before the woman even finishes her recommendation.

Then it's time for Quinn to lie back on the table with her shirt hiked up while Doctor Barnes whips out the measuring tape. Her belly comes in right at twenty-eight centimeters, exactly where it should be at this stage of her pregnancy, and she grins as she gazes at Rachel. "Guess she isn't taking after you in the diminutive size department."

Rachel rolls her eyes, suppressing her own grin. "I'll have you know that I am a perfectly average height, Quinn Fabray. Everyone else is just freakishly tall."

"Some more than others," Quinn quips, unable to keep her thoughts from straying to Finn Hudson thanks to Rachel's word choice. Poor Harmony must have been the size of a house by the end of her pregnancy with Christopher—and Quinn doesn't take pity on that woman very easily.

After Quinn's measurements are safely recorded, Doctor Barnes breaks out the Doppler. This is Quinn's favorite part—not the cold gel that gets smeared over her abdomen but the beautiful sound of their daughter's heartbeat when it finally filters through the speakers. Rachel slips her hand into Quinn's as she stands on the other side of the exam table, looking just as awed as the first time they'd heard it together. It's a healthy one hundred and forty-one beats per minute, and Doctor Barnes lets them just listen for a quiet moment until she pulls the wand away and silences the room.

Reassured that everything with the pregnancy is right on track, they thank Doctor Barnes and leave with their next appointment scheduled for two weeks from today. Now that Quinn is entering her third trimester, her monthly appointments shift to biweekly until she reaches her final month, when she'll see Doctor Barnes weekly until the delivery. Thinking of her pregnancy in those terms makes it feel like they have even less time until their daughter arrives, though Quinn knows these last three months will be the hardest on her body. In retrospect, she probably should have tried to avoid having her due date fall right in the middle of the hottest part of the summer. She has a feeling that she's going to be pretty miserable before the end.

When they step outside into a beautiful June morning, Quinn isn't thinking about any of the discomfort she's bound to experience in the coming months. She's only thinking about how excited she is to finally meet their daughter, and she can tell by the giant smile on Rachel's face and the bounce in her step that she's feeling the same way.

_xx_

They do manage to get the apartment arranged into some semblance of livable order within the first week, though Quinn finds herself rearranging things on a daily basis. She suspects she'll continue to do that until everything feels as close to perfect as she can make it.

They still need to buy some new furniture for the extra bedrooms, and they definitely need to start putting together the nursery. They've been buying things here and there for the last couple of months—onesies and blankets and diapers and the most adorable little baby outfits—but there's a lot they still need. Like a crib. And a changing table. And a baby bathtub. And a stroller.

Quinn starts to feel overwhelmed every time she thinks about everything they still need to do with less than three months left to do them, and she knows that Rachel does too. Her wife is not at all subtle.

On her good days—the days when she doesn't feel like a beached whale baking in the New York summer sun—Quinn is mostly able to take Rachel's moments of anxiety and the many outlandish ways in which they manifest themselves in stride. On her bad days, it doesn't take much at all to make her blow up or break down.

Thank God Rachel has finally agreed to stop arranging babysitters for her and settled into obsessive phone calls to check up on her instead. Those, Quinn can deal with.

Usually.

And to her credit, Rachel has been handling Quinn's occasional mood swings like a pro. She even manages to successfully circumvent a meltdown that nearly keeps Quinn from attending the Tony Awards with her. As it turns out, all of that extra fabric that Kurt had so kindly included on Quinn's dress to accommodate her pregnancy still isn't quite enough to keep her from feeling like a giant, misshapen watermelon when she puts it on and finds it molded to her belly much more tightly than it had been two weeks ago.

Rachel looks gorgeous though, with her stylish dress hugging her lithe body in very flattering ways, and yet somehow, she still manages to look at Quinn like she's the most beautiful thing that she's ever seen, finding the perfect words to make Quinn feel like the most important person in her world.

For every ounce of confidence that Rachel can so effortlessly give her with just a look, Quinn instinctively knows that her wife needs the same from her in turn. Rachel's face is lined with nervousness and uncertainty that has nothing to do with Quinn or their baby and everything to do with the thousands of people who'll be tuning in to see her either soar to a win or suffer a very public loss that she'll need to pretend to be gracious about when she feels anything but, and she needs Quinn's unwavering faith in her to get her through the evening.

It's something that Quinn can happily provide—no matter how fat and clumsy she might get.

So she lets Rachel escort her down to the car that they have waiting and allows her to fuss over helping Quinn get into and then out of the backseat when they get to Radio City Music Hall, and she proudly holds Rachel's hand as they walk down the carpet because Rachel needs her there. Because this is all part of what Quinn had signed on for when she'd married Rachel, and because she's so proud to be Rachel's wife—even when she resembles an elephant wearing a big, green circus tent.

Quinn finds it fairly easy to forget her circus elephant status when she shifts her focus to Rachel, watching her charm the reporters that stop her and listening while she answers questions about her show and her role and gushes about her beautiful wife and how happy and excited they are to become mothers.

Still, it's a relief when they finally get into the theatre and take their seats. Pregnancy and fancy shoes aren't the most comfortable pairing, even though Quinn had chosen the lowest heels she could possibly pull off without wearing sneakers. She has to fight the urge to knead at that spot in her lower back more than once—conscious of just how closely Rachel watches her for any sign of discomfort. Rachel doesn't need to be worrying about her tonight, and Quinn certainly doesn't want to give Rachel a reason to sic anymore babysitters on her for the next three months.

Shelby and Beth are already inside waiting for them at Rachel's invitation, and they both look equally beautiful in their dresses, smiling and happy to be part of Quinn and Rachel's growing family. Beth gives her a hug before she sits down, already chattering about all the celebrities she's seen today and which ones she plans to ask Rachel to introduce her to later, and Shelby seems content to let both of her daughters bask in the excitement of the ceremony.

The baby kicks at every musical number, proving that she is, in fact, Rachel Berry's progeny, and Quinn will swear to anyone who might ask that she's already attempting to give her mama a standing ovation because she's never more active than when Rachel performs the featured song from  _Confessions_.

And later, when Rachel stands up on that stage with her much deserved award in hand and declares for all of the world to hear that her every success would be meaningless without Quinn and their unborn daughter, Quinn becomes a very soggy, tent-wearing elephant—but a very, very happy one.

She's still happy (but exhausted) hours later—long after they say goodnight to Beth and Shelby and make their brief, obligatory appearance at the after party—and she sighs in contentment in the back of the car that's taking them home as she watches Rachel cradle her award with an irrepressible grin on her face.

"Maybe we should name her Tony," Rachel suggests, tracing a reverent finger over the engraved  _Rachel Berry_  on the medallion.

"You'd better be talking about the statue," Quinn warns lightly.

Rachel rolls her eyes. "It's already named Tony. I mean our daughter," she clarifies, as if Quinn doesn't already realize that. "Antoinette Fabray has a nice ring to it."

Quinn wrinkles her nose in distaste. "I don't like it."

"Why not?" Rachel challenges with a frown. "I think it sounds elegant."

"Do I need a reason beyond we're not naming our daughter after your Tony Award?"

"It would actually be naming her after Antoinette Perry, renowned theater actress and director, but I suppose you may have a point," Rachel allows, eyes twinkling with mirth. "I just got caught up in the moment." And she hugs her Tony to her chest in delight.

Quinn laughs at her wife's antics. "I figured. I mean, you're the one who's all about the importance of name meanings."

Rachel hums in acknowledgement, pulling one hand away from her precious award to rub Quinn's belly affectionately. "In point of fact, Antoinette means  _worthy of praise_ , which our daughter certainly will be."

It's amazing how deeply such a simple declaration coupled with such a familiar action can affect Quinn. Her eyes feel on the verge of shedding more than a few tears, and there's a giant lump in her throat that she has to swallow around to even be able to speak. "And you just happen to know that," she murmurs huskily.

Rachel glances up at her smugly. "Of course, Quinn." She removes her hand from their sleeping daughter's home to tap a nail against her award. "Antoinette Perry," she recites as if that explains everything, and Quinn supposes it does. After all, Rachel does tend to fixate on finding out everything she can about all of her idols. Quinn really shouldn't be surprised anymore by any of the obscure trivia her wife seems to know.

Smiling mistily, Quinn reaches out to snag Rachel's hand and tangle their fingers together before bringing their joined hands down to rest on the swell of her stomach. "We'll find the right name for her…one that she'll make her own."

"I have every confidence," Rachel says seriously before a playful grin dances across her lips. "It would be unconscionable to keep calling her Baby Fabray forever."

Quinn barks out a short laugh. "Or Baby Berry." Though she's still partial to that as a temporary nickname, since this  _is_  a little Berry that she's busy growing.

"Especially that," Rachel dismisses with a smirk. "Fabray is the only name we've completely agreed on so far."

"Except professionally," Quinn teases, nodding to the award that proudly bears Rachel's maiden name.

Brown eyes flash dangerously. "I don't think you want to go there again,  _Lucy_."

Quinn rolls her eyes, biting back her smile as she reaches over to give the medallion on the Tony a little spin. "Shut up and kiss me, Berry."

"It's Fabray," Rachel corrects huskily before leaning in to obey her wife's command.

It's a perfect beginning to a lovely end of their wonderful evening.


	3. Not Even the Morning

Rachel wakes up with a smile on her lips, blinking the sleep from her eyes to be greeted by the shiny golden glint of the sun reflecting off the Tony on her nightstand. It's a magnificent sight to behold, and her smile widens. Biting back a squeal of delight, she stretches her arms above her head before she rolls onto her back and turns her head to gaze at the other magnificent sight that she gets to behold each and every morning. Quinn is still sleeping peacefully—on her side with her left arm flung behind her in a way that tilts her shoulders slightly in the other direction—gloriously naked and surrounded by pillows.

The pillows had been lovingly placed there after they'd finished thoroughly celebrating Rachel's win last night—or this morning to be more precise.

Rachel is grateful that it's Monday and her show is still dark, despite having been shuttered for both of its performances yesterday in honor of the Tony Awards. They'd added an extra matinee performance last Friday and another this coming Wednesday to make up the difference, but Rachel isn't about to complain about the nice little break she's getting until Tuesday evening.

Although  _break_  might not be quite the right word.

She has some paint shopping to do today. In fact, Rachel had started researching baby safe paints right after their doctor's appointment last week, and she's mostly settled on Benjamin Moore for its claim of containing zero volatile organic compounds, its boast of 'one coat' coverage, and its allegedly short drying time. There are a few local home and hardware stores in Manhattan that carry it, though the largest seems to be the Janovic Paint & Decorating Center. Luckily for them, there's one on West 72nd Street near Verdi Square. If she and Quinn can come to an agreement on the perfect color today, then maybe they can have the nursery painted by next week.

But in order for any painting to be done, they need the paint, and to get that, they need to get out of bed and actually go out and buy it. Rachel really doesn't want to disturb her wife. She knows that Quinn needs the rest, because even if she's annoyingly reluctant to admit just how tired and uncomfortable she's becoming at this stage of her pregnancy, Rachel can still see it. Of course, Quinn is also unfairly radiant and (mostly) calm about (almost) everything, and if Rachel wasn't so well acquainted with all of her little tells, she'd probably be convinced that Quinn is breezing through this pregnancy as effortlessly as she had her first one. It still looks  _practically_ effortless from where Rachel is standing, but there's at least a little bit of effort happening that Quinn absolutely needs Rachel around to attend to, and that's exactly what Rachel intends to keep doing, attending to her wife's needs—whether Quinn likes it or not.

She mostly likes it.

Rachel can see that too.

With a quiet sigh, she carefully shifts onto her side to face Quinn, reaching out a gentle hand to silently greet her daughter. There's a moment of disappointment when she doesn't feel any soft kicks meeting her palm, but she supposes that's why Quinn is still sleeping—well,  _that_ and the very thorough job that Rachel had done of wearing her out.

She decides that she can probably get away with letting Quinn sleep for at least another thirty minutes, so she slowly removes her hand from Quinn's taut skin before she begins a cautious, methodical shuffle back across the mattress in a stealthy attempt to slip from their bed without disturbing Quinn's sleep. In fact, she has one leg dangling over the edge of the bedframe with a hand braced on the mattress, when—

"So you're just gonna say g'morning to the baby and not to me?"

Rachel's whole body jerks in surprise at the unexpected sound of Quinn's gravelly, sleep-laden question, causing her to lose her precarious balance and slide right down onto the floor with a thud.

"Oh, my God! Rachel? Are you okay?" sounds from above her in a more alert tone while the mattress vibrates with Quinn's movements.

"Nothing is bruised but my pride," Rachel mutters from the floor, equal parts embarrassed and annoyed that she'd woken up Quinn despite her best efforts otherwise.

Quinn peeks over the side of the bed—sleep-mussed hair framing her amused face and lower lip caught between her teeth. "That's what you get for trying to sneak out on me."

Rachel pushes up on one elbow with narrowed eyes. "I was  _trying_  to let you sleep."

 _That_  eyebrow inches up. "Well, you suck at it."

"Kick me while I'm down, why don't you?" Rachel grumbles, flopping back onto the floor. The coolness of the hardwood seeps into her naked back, and she wonders if they should maybe look into getting an area rug—not that she plans to spend a lot of time on the floor, but once the baby starts to crawl around, throwing down a few rugs might not be such a bad idea.

"Seriously, though…are you okay?" Quinn asks again, expression turning slightly pensive. "Because I really can't lift you if you're stuck down there."

Rachel is suddenly struck by the image of Quinn needing to call someone to come pick her naked wife up off the floor, trying to explain what happened while she frantically tosses clothes at Rachel in an attempt to make her decent. Rachel starts laughing at the ridiculousness of the picture in her head, and Quinn looks down at her like she's off her rocker—a familiar expression of confusion scrunching up her nose and furrowing her brow—which only makes Rachel laugh harder.

"Okay, now you're worrying me."

Rachel shakes her head, gulping in a few deep breaths to compose herself. "I'm fine," she eventually manages. "The situation just struck me as funny." She pushes herself up into a sitting position to prove she's not injured, still grinning as she reaches up to brush an unruly lock of dark blonde hair away from Quinn's eyes.

Quinn's mouth quirks into a tiny smile. "It wasn't exactly your most graceful moment."

"Luckily, no one was here to witness it but you," Rachel agrees, shifting onto her knees so she can place a soft kiss to Quinn's smiling lips. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"Since your daughter likes to sleep on my bladder, I wouldn't have slept much longer anyway," Quinn admits with a roll of her eyes. "And speaking of that…"

The sentence remains unfinished as Quinn swings her legs over the edge of the mattress—much more gracefully than Rachel had managed, even in her advanced state of pregnancy—and pushes up off the bed, unapologetically using Rachel's shoulder for extra leverage before she races into the bathroom.

It's fairly impressive how fast she can move when the situation demands it.

Rachel bites back her laughter as she drags herself up off the floor, and when her knees protest slightly, she decides that they really do need to look into getting some rugs.

She pads over to closet—the beautifully  _spacious_ closet (where she ignores the few boxes that are currently shoved into the back corner that aren't yet unpacked because they contain Quinn's pre-maternity wardrobe)—to pull out a robe, slipping it on before stopping in front of the bathroom door, which Quinn had left slightly ajar in her haste. Really, they've both moved past the point of needing complete privacy anyway.

"Are you still up for paint shopping today?"

"Well, I'm up," Quinn replies drolly, "and we do need to get started on the nursery, so yeah. What time is it anyway? I didn't bother to look at the clock."

Rachel moves back towards their bed, glancing at the clock that Quinn keeps on her nightstand. "Eleven-thirty," she informs her wife as she picks up a pillow with the intention of making the bed.

The sound of the toilet flushing fills the room just a scant few seconds before the bathroom door flies all the way open to reveal Quinn—still naked—with one hand on the door knob and the other on her shapely hip. "We've slept half the day away! Why the hell didn't you wake me up sooner?"

Rachel pauses in her task, having only managed to place the pillow in its proper position against the headboard. "Because we didn't fall asleep until after five this morning. That's hardly an adequate amount of rest for you as it is."

Quinn doesn't look the least bit appeased by her explanation. "We have things to do today, Rachel. By the time we both get dressed and have breakf…" She cuts herself off with an angry shake of her head. " _Lunch_ , the day will be practically over!" She punctuates her point by tossing her hands up in exasperation.

A slight frown pulls at Rachel's lips. "That's a grievous exaggeration."

Hazel eyes narrow dangerously. "Not by much."

"Janovic is open until seven o'clock tonight," Rachel soothes, abandoning her minimal effort to straighten up the bed so she can drift closer to her wife. "We have plenty of time. I'll even take you out for lunch. Café Luxembourg?" she tempts with a musical lilt, knowing that Quinn loves the croque monsieur sandwich on their menu. Now that they're actually living in the Upper West Side, they're much closer to the longstanding bistro, and Rachel is perfectly willing to overlook Quinn's consumption of dead animal flesh if it puts her back into the happy, stress-free mood she'd first woken up in.

There's a definite look of interest on Quinn's face. "Despite your very obvious attempt to bribe me with food, I accept," she informs Rachel haughtily. "I'm taking a shower now. If you want to save time, you can use the bathroom in the hall."

"Or we could share," Rachel is quick to suggest before Quinn has the chance to fully close the bathroom door in her face. "I could help you wash all those hard to reach places."

The door slowly drifts open again, revealing an arched eyebrow. "It's cute that you think I'd let you share my shower when we're already short on time thanks to you."

"But we'll save time  _and_  water if we share."

Quinn actually laughs at that. "When has that  _ever_ happened? Our shared showers  _always_  end up taking longer than the ones we take alone."

Rachel's mind drifts pleasantly through all of those occasions, reminding her along the way that Quinn has a very valid point, and she finds herself grinning unrepentantly. "Well, I still vote for one long shower over two short, lonely ones," she declares, slipping her arms around Quinn with a seductive smile and letting her fingertips slide down over the curve of her hip. "And we have  _such_  a big shower now…it's a shame to let it go to waste." Though, in point of fact, they'd managed to thoroughly test it out more than once in the last week—they haven't spent  _all_ of their time unpacking and arranging the new apartment.

"Fine," Quinn relents on a resigned sigh before pointing at Rachel warningly. "But  _no_  fooling around, Rachel. We don't have time today."

Rachel nods dutifully. "Just showering," she promises, raising a hand to cross her heart. She thinks they actually could make the time for a  _little_  fooling around, but she'll abide by Quinn's wishes, and it won't lessen her enjoyment in the least. She loves the simple act of sharing a shower with her wife, chatting and laughing together as they pass the body wash and shampoo back and forth and scrub one another's backs.

And that's exactly what they do.

Rachel might linger just a longer on certain areas of Quinn's body, and she possibly steals a few kisses in between rinses, but Quinn doesn't seem to hold it against her. They turn the water off with plenty of time for Rachel to lovingly dry every inch of Quinn's body before seeing to her own, and Quinn has more than enough time (because it really shouldn't take more than thirty minutes for a woman who is not Quinn Fabray) to put on her make-up, style her hair, and choose a presentable outfit.

"I told you we wouldn't save any time," Quinn grumbles from the closet thirty minutes later, sifting through a dozen tops and dresses as she tries to decide what to wear.

Rachel rolls her eyes as she finally finishes making the bed, confident that Quinn can't see her do it. She's already dressed and ready to go, having opted for a loose skirt and comfortable blouse—more for the restaurant than the paint shopping—while Quinn had been curling her hair and putting on her make-up. She half-wonders if Quinn will even insist on completing her full make-up ritual before agreeing to be taken to the hospital to give birth. It hadn't been an issue the last time since she'd gone into labor right after Regionals, so she'd already been glamorously made-up. But Rachel knows better than to question this particular quirk of Quinn's right now.

"I think I might call Teresa and ask if she'd be willing to help us paint," she casually mentions instead.

That draws Quinn out of the closet immediately—a blue and white striped sundress in her hands and a slight frown on her lips. "Don't you think that might be a mild case of overkill?"

"How so?" she asks before pointing to the dress. "I like that one."

"Asking an actual artist to paint our nursery?" Quinn responds with an arched brow.

"I obviously wouldn't expect her to paint a mural for us," Rachel assures her, watching her wife slip the dress over her head. Although, she wouldn't be opposed to letting Teresa paint a cute little design somewhere on the nursery wall—maybe those teddy bears she'd imagined or a gold star or two. "I just thought it might be good idea to have someone here to help me since you can't, and if that someone actually knows something about paint and color palates, even better."

Rachel considers herself extremely artistic, of course, but she's never actually painted an entire room by herself before. (There might have been a minor incident when she was eleven that prompted her fathers to make sure all future remodeling endeavors she embarked upon were well supervised.)

A frown mars Quinn's face at the reminder as she finishes buttoning her dress. "I could always wear a mask…"

"No," Rachel denies quickly. "I don't care how safe the paint claims to be. You will be staying as far away from the fumes as possible, Quinn. In fact, if it happens to be a nice day, you could go out and explore our new neighborhood a little more," she suggests, pleased with the idea.

"All by myself?" Quinn asks playfully.

And just like that, the familiar trickle of dread crawls up Rachel's spine. She's perfectly aware that it's mildly irrational—the same as Quinn's lingering insecurities over her pregnancy weight gain—but it doesn't stop her from feeling it, so she nervously clears her throat. "On second thought, we'll just open all the windows. You can do some baking or…or start working on your next book…at the breakfast bar." The kitchen is sufficiently removed from the nursery, unlike Quinn's office, and there's a ventilation fan over the stove.

Quinn laughs, shaking her head. "You're so predictable." She seems more amused than annoyed by it today, and she steps closer to Rachel so she can brush a soft kiss over her lips. "I suppose there's no harm in asking Teresa if she wants to help, but if she says  _no_ …"

"I'll convince her that she really wants to say  _yes_."

"Rachel," Quinn warns good-naturedly.

"It's worked before," Rachel argues with a grin. "Look what Teresa would be missing out on if I hadn't convinced her to give Santana another chance."

Quinn chuckles at that. "Sweetie, you really can't compare your questionable matchmaking skills with badgering our friend into manual labor."

Rachel frowns at that. "My matchmaking skills are never in question, Quinn."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," Quinn says soothingly, though that particular smirk on her face makes Rachel doubt the sincerity of her capitulation. "Now let's get a move on. We're burning daylight, and I'm starving." With that, she turns on her heel and glides out of the bedroom as if she hadn't been the one taking forty minutes to get dressed, leaving Rachel to follow after her in consternation.

After feeding Oliver—who is very displeased with having such a late breakfast—and calling a taxi, they're off to enjoy lunch at Café Luxembourg. It's a beautiful day, and they probably could have walked, but Rachel prefers not to take any chances with Quinn's blood sugar in the afternoon sun when she doesn't yet have any food in her stomach. They do, however, forgo the taxi after lunch at Quinn's insistence and enjoy the short five minute walk the store where they spend a few moments simply staring at the hundreds of sample squares displayed on the wall right there at the entrance.

"There are so many colors," Rachel murmurs, feeling slightly overwhelmed by them all.

"It's like a rainbow threw up," Quinn adds, resting a hand on her belly as her eyes bounce back and forth between the various shades.

Rachel side-eyes her wife but doesn't make a comment, instead scanning over the paint names until she finds the section labeled Benjamin Moore. "Those are the ones we want to focus on," she points out, stepping closer the paint brand she's most interested in. It cuts down their potential choices, but not by much, since this is an official Benjamin Moore retailer.

"We should have gotten an earlier start," Quinn mumbles, reaching out to snag a sample from a section of violets. "Grape Ice," she reads, showing the card to Rachel.

"You like that?" Rachel asks, wrinkling her nose in distaste. Granted, it's a fairly muted lavender, but it's definitely not what Rachel has been envisioning for their daughter's room.

"You don't?" Quinn counters with a small frown.

"I was thinking more," Rachel trails off, glancing back that the multitude of colors before snagging a soft yellow that appeals to her and showing it Quinn, "this."

"Good Morning Sunshine?" Quinn recites warily. "Is it a color or a greeting to your lover?"

Rachel flips the card over to read the name printed at the bottom, grimacing slightly. "Who comes up with these names?" she wonders out loud.

Quinn doesn't bother to answer. "Don't you think it's a little too…bright?"

"You said you'd consider yellow," she reminds her wife, fully intending to hold her to that promise.

"A  _pale_  yellow," Quinn reiterates.

"This  _is_  pale," Rachel argues. She's not a fan of the name, but she does like the shade.

"No,  _this_  is pale," Quinn corrects, picking up another card and showing it to Rachel.

The name is Light Daffodil, but, "That's barely even yellow," Rachel complains, squinting at the color card. "It almost looks green."

Quinn turns the card back around, looking at it again. "Huh. I guess it does a little. Maybe that's why I like it." She shrugs, her eyes drifting back to the color samples once again. "Actually, I really like these ones," she decides, pulling out a handful of cards that are side-by-side on the rack with names like Iced Mint, Neon Celery, Apple Froth, and Lime Accent.

"Those ones aren't edible, are they?" Rachel jokes after seeing the names.

Quinn laughs, shaking her head. "They're not any worse than Good Morning Sunshine." Her expression grows serious then. "I think they might match the quilt that Shelby gave us," she points out softly.

Rachel sucks in a little breath at the reminder of the gift, still in the bag that Shelby—well,  _Beth_ —had presented it in. With the move, they hadn't really had the time or inclination to do anything with it except move it from a box to the closet, but it's yet another project for their daughter that needs to be tackled. "I still like yellow," she grumbles. "It's a complementary color to green."

"Maybe in your former wardrobe," Quinn teases.

"Cute."

"You are," Quinn flirts, picking up another pale yellow that looks to be at least a little more  _yellow_. "Let's find a salesperson and ask some questions. I somehow doubt these little cards are enough to base our decision on."

It turns out that Quinn is correct. The saleswoman (who recognizes Rachel from her Tony win last night and gushes over her for a full ten minutes before they can even start to get down to business) highly recommends taking home sample-sized cans of paint to test on the walls before making a final decision. That way, they'll be able to see how the color is affected by both the natural and artificial lighting in the room. So after another ten minute debate over which colors they actually want to test and the fifteen minutes it takes for Wanda to mix up their samples, they're back in a taxi on the way back home with six tiny cans of paint—one of which is Good Morning Sunshine because Quinn has agreed to humor her—and six small paint brushes (that Wanda had thrown in at a discount) along with a valved respirator mask for Quinn (to be extra safe).

"You stay out there," Rachel demands once they're home and changed into comfortable clothes. She's laid down newspapers on the floor of the nursery—not  _today's_  paper with her name listed as Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Musical, of course—and lined up the sample cans all in a row with a bucket of soapy water and plenty of towels. The window is open as wide as it will go, and she'd dragged in the small fan they'd brought with them from their old apartment for those days when the air-conditioning is on the fritz.

"Oh, come on," Quinn protests. "You're painting six little spots on the wall. There'll hardly be any fumes at all."

"We're not taking  _any_ chances, Quinn," Rachel insists very seriously, pointing at the door. "Now out. You can look at them when they dry…tomorrow. Possibly Wednesday," she amends, thinking that two full days should be adequate to sufficiently air out the room.

Quinn crosses her arms with a scowl. "I'm not waiting until Wednesday, Rachel. You've got the room ventilated, and I'll put on that ridiculous mask you bought me if it will make you feel better, but we're making a decision on this today."

"So stubborn," Rachel mutters, not for the first time.

"Exceedingly goal oriented," Quinn corrects with a pointed look, blatantly stealing Rachel's favorite defense. "Now get painting," she orders, gesturing to the wall. "I want to see those colors on the wall before the sun sets." With that, she spins on her heel and finally leaves the room, closing the door on her way out.

Rachel shakes her head in exasperation. Despite her preference, she highly doubts that Quinn will be dissuaded from coming back into this room today, so she turns on the fan and points it towards the open window in the hope that it will suck the fumes outside that much faster. Then she kneels down in front of the paint cans, using the screwdriver she'd brought in to carefully pry open the lid on the Good Morning Sunshine before moving on to the other five colors—Falling Star (another pale yellow) and the four shades of green with the food names that Quinn had been immediately drawn to.

Rachel is pleasantly surprised to find that the fumes from the paint cans aren't overwhelming at all, but there's definitely still a distinct scent, and Rachel is glad she'd made Quinn step outside. It doesn't take long for her to paint six little squares on the wall, and she even manages to do it without making (much of) a mess. She's grateful that Wanda had given her the six brushes so she doesn't have to worry about cleaning them between patches.

Even though they're not dry yet, Rachel mentally eliminates the Neon Celery from the running. It's a little too  _neon_ , and she has a feeling it's going to dry even brighter. She had slowly warmed up to Quinn's color preference while they'd looked at more samples, deciding that green is a nice gender neutral color, and it does match the quilt that she really should dig out of the closet. But it has to be the right shade, and the neon isn't cutting it.

Rachel does still really like the Good Morning Sunshine though, and the little square is bright and cheerful on the wall.

She takes the time to replace all of the lids tightly on the cans, since there's still a good amount of paint in each of them, and she rinses off the brushes with the water and towel before carrying them into the hallway bathroom to clean them more thoroughly. Of course, Quinn is right there, asking how it looks, and Rachel laughingly tells her to be patient. It's still wet, and Rachel doesn't have a good idea of how any of them might look when they dry, though she does inform her wife that she really isn't impressed with the neon.

They pass the time by preparing a light dinner since they'd had a rather large lunch, and then Quinn attempts to drag Rachel into the nursery, grumbling when Rachel stops her and demands that she put on the mask. Quinn eyes it dubiously, clearly not impressed with it in any way. "Is this really necessary? I'm not going to be in there that long."

"Humor me," Rachel pleads.

With a sigh, Quinn slips the mask over her head, covering her mouth and nose. It's suspiciously lightweight, but Wanda had assured them that it's well rated for nuisance level chemical smells, and—well, Quinn had absolutely refused to let Rachel buy the double-valved, professional-grade mask, complaining that she didn't want to look like Darth Vader. This one makes her look more like a surgeon, and Rachel smiles at the thought.

"I swear to God, if you start laughing," Quinn threatens through the mask. It muffles her words just a little but absolutely does not dampen the familiar Fabray glare in the least.

"No laughing," Rachel promises, pressing a hand over her heart. "I'm just happy you're putting our daughter's safety above your pride." And  _vanity_ , though Rachel knows better than to say that part out loud.

Hazel eyes roll in response, but the glare disappears, and they make their way into the room. Rachel is actually mildly surprised with how well the fan and window have aired out the room in such a short time, though she knows that probably has more to do with how little paint was actually used. It's late enough that their west facing windows are getting the full effect of the setting sun, so the natural lighting might be slightly exaggerated, but it's enough to get a sense of how the colors will look on the walls.

Quinn immediately agrees with Rachel about the neon, and she ends up liking the Good Morning Sunshine on the wall more than she did on the sample card, though she prefers the Falling Star if they were to decide on yellow. It's fairly clear to Rachel that Quinn has no intention of actually deciding on yellow. Most of her attention is focused on the Iced Mint and the Lime Accent because the Apple Froth ends up being darker than they'd expected. The lime is a lovely, soft green while the mint lives up to its name. It ultimately comes down to those two, and they both agree to take a second look in the morning sunlight to see which they prefer.

The next morning the decision is made, and Rachel treks back to the store in the hours before her show to buy two gallons of the Lime Accent, a small can of Simply White (because apparently even white needs a special name) for some trim work, and all the necessary brushes and rollers and tape to complete the job. Wanda, who is working once again, proves to be very helpful, arranging for someone to deliver the supplies directly to her apartment by tomorrow so she won't need to carry them all home with her.

Now all she needs to do is actually paint the room.

She won't need to do it alone though, because when she calls Teresa to (not-so) casually mention her project, Teresa seems happy enough to offer her help, so they make a date for the following Monday.

With the nursery color decided, the rest of the week is spent browsing the online sites for baby furniture and nursery decorations, though they agree not to buy anything (major) until they can check out a few of the local stores in person. And, of course, there's a brief break in all matters related to baby preparedness and decorating to celebrate their anniversary on Friday. Rachel has a show that night and four of them over the weekend, so their celebration is limited to a sweet gift exchange and several hours of uninterrupted intimacy.

When Monday rolls around, Rachel is up bright and early, letting her wife sleep a little longer (though she won't make the mistake of letting her sleep  _too_  long with company coming) while she takes a very quick shower to wash away the scent of sleep.

Since Rachel only plans to be painting today, she throws on a worn pair of jeans and an old  _Cats_  t-shirt that she doesn't mind ruining and pulls her still-damp hair back into a messy ponytail. Teresa will just have to deal with a slightly deglamorized Rachel Fabray for one day.

Quinn, on the other hand—once she's awake—takes care to look her best despite Rachel's assurance that Teresa won't care if she wears an old pair of sweats with no make-up.

" _I_ care," Quinn insists, still wrapped in her robe. "I don't want to look like a…a frumpy blimp in front of our friends. I'm already huge." She gestures to her belly a little despondently.

Rachel has the sense that Quinn might very well be dancing along the edge of a self-esteem spiral today, and she reacts instantly, determined to keep her wife from tripping any farther down that particular road of thought. "You're beautiful," she vows, slipping her arms around Quinn with an adoring smile, "and exactly the size you should be. Doctor Barnes said so at your last appointment." And Rachel needs to believe that Doctor Barnes knows exactly what she's talking about, otherwise she might just have a nervous breakdown worrying about Quinn and their unborn daughter. She's been far too close to it on a few occasions already.

Quinn sighs in resignation. "I know that…up here," she taps a finger to her temple, "but it doesn't stop me from feeling self-conscious," she admits with a frown. "So  _no_ , I won't be letting Teresa see me in sweats with no make-up."

"Do whatever you need to do, baby," Rachel complies easily, knowing it's best to let Quinn primp to her heart's content if that's what it takes to boost her confidence, and she bestows a chaste kiss to her wife's lips in punctuation before releasing her. "I'll make breakfast," she offers. "Any requests?"

"Something not burnt," Quinn answers with a sly grin.

Rachel plants her hands on her hips with a huff. "I haven't burned anything in almost two months, and that piece of French toast was completely your fault," she defends, wagging a finger at Quinn. "You distracted me with your sexiness."

Quinn giggles, her expression already brighter from just a few moments ago. "You're very easily distracted."

"By you, always," Rachel concedes unapologetically. "But you'll be far too busy making yourself look even more unfairly gorgeous to distract me today," she points out with a grin, "so what will it be?"

"Toast is fine," Quinn assures her. "I'll probably make something more substantial a little later to feed Teresa. I'm sure she'll work up an appetite doing all your work for you."

"Hey!" Rachel protests, mildly offended. "I plan to do my share."

Laughing, Quinn shakes her head. "If you say so. Now go make the toast. I'm almost ready."

Quinn's  _almost_  will probably be at least another twenty minutes, so Rachel follows her wife's instructions and, after another brief kiss, wanders out to the kitchen to make their breakfast.

She absolutely  _does not_  burn the toast. She even chops up some fresh fruit for good measure.

Quinn appears after the predicted twenty minutes in a pair of her nicer maternity jeans and a simple chambray button down with flawless make-up and her hair neatly clipped up at the sides. She looks unassumingly gorgeous for their expected company.

They have some time to relax after breakfast and skim through the morning news before there's a knock on their door at five minutes past ten. Rachel had let their doorman (and she does so love having a doorman now) know to expect Teresa today, so he'd undoubtedly allowed her to come right up. It's an assumption that's proven correct when Rachel opens the door to see their friend standing on the other side with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a hand shoved casually into the back pocket of her torn and faded jeans.

"Hey there, miss two-time Tony winner," Teresa greets with a playful grin, and that's all it takes for Rachel's welcoming smile to transform into one that is nothing less than beaming. She does so love the way that sounds. "Congratulations again," she says, moving in for a brief hug that Rachel is happy to accept. Teresa had already congratulated her on the phone last week—as had the rest of their friends—but this is the first time they've seen each other in person since her win.

"Thank you, Teresa."

"Yeah, congrats, Streisand," comes from just over Teresa's shoulder as Santana unexpectedly glides into view, breezing into the apartment just behind her girlfriend. The genuine smile on her face tells Rachel that the familiar nickname is actually meant as a compliment today—though Rachel had never truly considered that particular one as anything less. "Bet Lucy Q couldn't wait to use those matching statues as bookends."

"It was  _one_  time," Quinn protests, having just stepped out of the kitchen where she'd been rinsing out her coffee cup—decaffeinated, of course—to join them in the foyer.

"She's learned her lesson," Rachel confirms dutifully before muttering, "I hope." The quick poke to her side tells her that Quinn had heard that loud and clear, but really, it's probably time for them to invest in a nice, durable (cat and baby safe) award case with plenty of room for Rachel's growing collection. They can look into that right after they get the nursery squared away.

"I'd have probably done the same," Teresa confides to Quinn with a conspiratorial smirk as she strolls past them in the direction of the living room. "Just to rile her up."

"Hey!" Rachel protests, though coming from Teresa, the admission feels more like playful flirtation, especially when she laughingly spins around just to give her a wink. Rachel knows that it doesn't mean anything—it's just the way Teresa is—but she still casts a mildly apprehensive glance in Quinn's direction, worried that it might not be well-received today after her wife's little bout of insecurity this morning. Needless to say, she's relieved to see the reciprocal laughter shining through hazel eyes.

"It is one of my favorite pastimes," Quinn admits, aiming a flirtatious look of her own at Rachel that makes her face heat.

Santana doesn't help matters when she punctuates Quinn's statement with the familiar, "Wanky," as she follows Teresa to the sofa. She manages to shoo away Oliver (who's only just beginning to settle down in his new home) with nothing more than a scowl before making herself comfortable—which apparently includes reaching up to snag Teresa's hand and pull her down onto the sofa next to her. Teresa melts effortlessly into her side, letting the backpack drop to the floor beside her feet.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Rachel asks, eager to keep the conversation from devolving into a discussion of the many ways in which Quinn loves to rile her up but also genuinely curious. "Shouldn't you be at the hospital?" As far as she'd known, Santana had been scheduled to work today.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" Santana challenges, looking mildly insulted by the possibility.

"Of course not," Rachel assures her.

"We just thought you had to work," Quinn clarifies as she gingerly lowers herself into the nearby chair, batting away Rachel's hand when she scrambles to help.

Santana shrugs. "The dude I was supposed to cut open this morning chickened out. Decided to take his chances with God or something," she explains, shaking her head derisively. "So I dumped my afternoon rounds on one of the interns and took the rest of the day off. They'll page me if they need me. Otherwise, I'm all yours."

Despite her mild dismay that a potentially gravely ill man has chosen to forgo the necessary medical treatment and Santana's seemingly cavalier attitude regarding such, Rachel isn't about to turn away an extra set of hands. "Wonderful," she exclaims, perching on the armrest of the chair next to her wife. "You can help us paint."

Santana gestures to herself, scoffing, "Do I look like I'm dressed for manual labor?"

In point of fact, she does not, and Rachel frowns at the realization. The form-fitting, red scoop neck shirt and skintight designer jeans tucked into high heel black boots are even less appropriate for painting than they are for making rounds at the hospital, and she wonders why Santana would have purposely chosen that outfit when she'd known what was on the agenda for today. "Then why are you here?"

"Well, Teresa wouldn't cancel your little play-date to stay home and have sex, so what else am I gonna to do?"

Teresa—who is actually dressed appropriately for manual labor—rolls her eyes at Santana's answer. "She wants to take Quinn out for a girl's day to make sure she doesn't have any exposure to the paint fumes."

The information makes Rachel smile, instantly enamored with the idea of getting Quinn out of the apartment entirely (but not alone) while they're painting. She couldn't have planned it any better if she'd—well, if she'd actually  _planned_  it.

"Aw, you really do care," Quinn coos with a mocking smirk.

"I just want lunch," Santana insists, though Rachel would swear that there's the hint of an embarrassed blush on her cheeks—one that darkens ever-so-slightly when Teresa carelessly contradicts her cool indifference.

"She actually cleared her afternoon schedule last week after you called," she informs Rachel. "She only had the one surgery this morning, which conveniently got cancelled." Blue eyes glance suspiciously over to Santana. "It kinda makes me wonder what she told the guy during his pre-op to scare him out of surgery."

"Hey, I just gave him the facts," Santana defends, holding up her hands in a show of innocence, "and that was a week before you even planned this little misadventure," she gestures between Rachel and Teresa, "so it's a total fluke."

"A serendipitous fluke," Rachel agrees, nodding her approval. Of course, she hopes that poor man gets the proper medical treatment that he clearly requires, but she's not averse to taking advantage of opportunities when they're presented to her.

"I don't need a babysitter to get me out of the apartment," Quinn reminds her with a mildly exasperated expression.

"So you don't want to hit up Shake Shack for a smokeshack burger and a milkshake?" Santana challenges knowingly.

"Wait… _that's_ where you want to take her?" Rachel questions with a frown, suddenly not-quite-so-enamored with the idea of sending her wife off to consume more dead cow and pig flesh.

"Are you buying?" Quinn asks with interest, ignoring Rachel's question.

"Does it matter?" Santana wants to know.

"We're getting the cheese fries too."

"Quinn!" Rachel gasps, horrified by the thought of their poor baby daughter being subjected to all that grease and animal byproduct. Her protest is completely ignored.

"Whatever the gremlin wants," Santana promises, smirking.

Quinn eyes narrow. "Watch it, Lopez," she warns, pressing a protective hand to her belly. "That's my daughter you're calling a gremlin."

Santana raises her hands in surrender. "Sorry...the  _munchkin_ ," she amends laughingly.

Quinn nods her acceptance, and really?—she's just accepting  _munchkin_  now? Rachel might just need to have words about that with her wife later on, because otherwise Santana will settle on that nickname for their daughter and there'll be no steering her away from it.

"I just need to make myself presentable," Quinn announces before pushing up off the chair.

Rachel frowns in confusion, even as she reflexively reaches out to help Quinn stand. It's not like her wife hadn't  _just_  spent an hour getting dressed. The only thing she needs to do is put on a pair of shoes. "You look fine," she murmurs.

"Yeah, don't change on my account," Santana chimes in. "You'll never look as hot as me anyway, even without the baby-on-board." Teresa obligingly slaps her shoulder so Rachel doesn't have to, and Santana at least has the wisdom to look apologetic under the intensity of three glares. "Sheesh. It's a joke. You're totally rockin' the pregnancy thing, Q."

Quinn briefly glances down at her body, biting into her pouting lower lip, and for a moment, Rachel worries that she might let her insecurities overwhelm her again—or change her mind about indulging in the burger and fries that Santana has planned—but then she takes a deep breath and attempts to shake it off. "Even so…I'm not going out dressed like this. I'll just be five minutes," she promises before hurrying to the bedroom.

Santana shakes her head when Quinn is out of the room. "Still a vain bitch."

"Don't start with her, Santana," Rachel warns, pointing a stern finger. "She's been a little…sensitive lately."

"Just lately?" Santana jokes, receiving another gentle slap from Teresa for her snarkiness.

"If you can't control that mouth of yours, I'll make you stay here and paint while  _I_ take Quinn out on the town."

Santana aims a wolfish grin at her girlfriend. "Oh, you know  _exactly_  how well I can control my mouth."

When Teresa's lips curve into a lascivious smile and she sways closer to Santana, Rachel feels compelled to remind them that she's still in the room. "Hey, flirt on your own time," she interrupts, snapping her fingers at them. " _You_ ," she points at Santana, "are taking Quinn to lunch and playing nice like the wonderful friend you can occasionally be," she instructs before pointing to Teresa, "and  _you_  are helping me turn my boring white room into a perfectly painted nursery that looks like a frickin' fresh lime wedge." Good Morning Sunshine would have been so much more cheerful, but Quinn wants green so green it will be.

"Oh-kay," Santana drawls warily. "Don't blow a fuse there, midget. We've got you covered."

Rachel is hardly blowing a fuse! She just wants to ensure that Quinn has a very good day—a thing that isn't so easy to do when she's turning her wife over to Santana's questionable brand of care. "I'm trusting you to be on your best behavior, Santana. And I would be very grateful if you'd try to steer Quinn towards some healthier options on the menu…like the mushroom burger?" Not that Shake Shack's version of a veggie burger with all of that cheese they stuff into it is really any healthier than the dead cow.

Santana scoffs at that. "Yeah…not happening. You can push that meatless crap on your own watch, but I'm getting my girl her damn bacon double cheeseburger."

Rachel sighs in resignation. "At least make sure you take a taxi there…or call an Uber." She points her finger at Santana again. "Don't take the subway." She really doesn't want Quinn jostled and bumped on an overcrowded train.

"Actually, Resa's bike is parked downstairs," Santana mentions casually. "I thought we'd just take that…give Quinn a thrill."

"You are  _not_  putting my wife on the back of a motorcycle!" Rachel screeches, instinctively clutching at her chest—horrified by the very thought. She only vaguely notices the way Teresa drops her face into her hands, shaking her head in amused exasperation.

"I'm a safe driver," Santana assures her with a wicked smile. "I've only dumped it once."

Rachel inhales deeply, reminding herself that Santana is a trained surgeon, and therefore  _not_  a complete idiot. "She's merely attempting to mess with me, isn't she?" she asks Teresa—and it's possible the last part comes out sounding just a touch more desperate that she intends despite knowing better.

Teresa bites back a choked laugh, lifting earnest eyes to Rachel. "If she'd ever dumped my bike, she'd never get near it again," she vows unapologetically. "It's safely parked at our building. We walked here, and this is about as far as Santana is willing to walk in those heels," she reveals cheekily, pointing down at the boots in question.

"Hardee freaking har," Santana interjects, crossing her arms.

"She'll be ordering an Uber," Teresa assures her.

"You're no fun," Santana grumbles.

Teresa offers a soothing pat to her thigh, leaning close. "I'm plenty of fun in other ways."

"Oh, I know," Santana agrees, unabashedly kissing her despite the fact that Rachel is still standing right there watching them.

She snaps her fingers again. "Hey…what did I say about the flirting?"

Santana just flips her off, content to keep making out with her girlfriend right in the middle of Rachel and Quinn's sofa until Teresa laughing pushes her away. "Later, tiger," she promises Santana softly.

Quinn chooses that moment to reappear from the bedroom, having opted to keep the jeans but change into a lacy peach pullover maternity top that falls loosely over her belly. Rachel also notices that she'd removed the clips from her hair and brushed it out into sexy waves. A grin pulls at her lips because Santana wasn't wrong—Quinn will be forever blessed with a very healthy dose of vanity.

"Did I hear someone screaming about a motorcycle?"

Teresa and Santana both laugh at the question, and Rachel huffs in annoyance, reflexively stomping her foot.

"You'd be down for a joyride, right?" Santana asks with a smirk.

"As long as Teresa's driving," Quinn responds without missing a beat.

"You're nearly as bad as they are," Rachel accuses her wife.

A grin curves Quinn's lips as she steps closer. "And you're just too easy, sweetie." She punctuates the observation with a soft kiss, stealing Rachel's chance to form a protest.

"Okay, flirt on your own time," Santana interrupts, using Rachel's words against her as she rises from the sofa. "You already knocked her up, stud. It's time for me to liberate her pregnant ass from your boring influence for a few hours."

Without looking away from Rachel, Quinn rolls her eyes at Santana, grin still firmly in place. "I'm only going with her for the burger."

Rachel grimaces, placing her hands on either side of Quinn's belly as she addresses her unborn daughter. "I'm sorry your mother is an unrepentant carnivore." She ignores Quinn's quiet laughter. "I promise to make her eat lots of vegetables to make up for what you're about to endure."

"Gag me," Santana mutters, though Rachel doesn't miss the fond expression that belies her words.

Quinn presses her hands over Rachel's, giving them a pat as she steals another quick kiss. "We won't be gone too long," she promises.

"Yes, we will," Santana chimes in.

"Take your time," Rachel urges, in no rush for Quinn to return to an apartment that will be potentially filled with paint fumes. "Teresa and I will be too busy painting to even notice you're gone."

"You just enjoy your day," Teresa adds with an encouraging smile. "We've got the nursery covered."

Quinn still looks just a little bit reluctant to leave, but she lets Santana guide her out of the apartment and off to whatever activities she has planned for them—in addition to consuming the dead animals stewed in grease.

Once they're gone, Teresa and Rachel get right to work, spreading out the tarp that Rachel had bought to protect the hardwood floor and applying more of the painter's tape to the baseboards and around the window and door. Rachel had tried to get a start on that, but she suspects that she didn't do the best job after she watches Teresa peel some of it away only to reapply it much more neatly.

"Don't worry. I have experience painting more than just canvases," Teresa assures her while they work. "I helped my dad repaint our house, and Kate and I repainted our old apartment when we first moved in, but this is my first nursery," she admits with a grin.

"But maybe not your last," Rachel hints, wondering if there might eventually be any little Rinaldi-Lopezes running around to play with her daughter.

Teresa laughs at that, shaking her head. "We'll see," she evades, prying open the lid on the first paint can before beginning to stir it. "This is a nice color," she notes, glancing at the test patches on the wall. "That one, right?" she asks, pointing to the correct square.

Rachel nods. "You have a good eye."

"It's kind of my thing," Teresa reminds her with a shrug. "Where do you think you'll be putting the crib?"

"We're not completely sure yet," Rachel admits. "But we're thinking this wall." And she gestures to the one this room shares with their bedroom next door.

Teresa nods. "We'll do that one first then," she murmurs, almost to herself, before pouring out the paint into a tray. Rachel vaguely wonders why they would need to do it first, but then Teresa is showing her how to properly use the roller on the larger section of wall and setting her to work on that while she uses the brush to start painting the more intricate areas around the corners, window, door, and baseboards.

The work goes fairly quickly with the both of them working together, and the conversation comes easily enough, giving Rachel the chance to learn even more about Santana's girlfriend—little anecdotes about her childhood in New Jersey and stories about her older brothers that make Rachel laugh.

Once the room is painted, they take a break for a late lunch while they wait for the walls to dry, but before they actually eat, Teresa informs Rachel that she'd sketched out a simple design to adorn the wall over the crib—which is why she'd wanted to paint that one first and give it time to thoroughly dry. She shows it to Rachel on paper to get her approval, and it's absolutely perfect. Rachel is incredibly touched by the gesture, and she can't wait to see how it will look on the wall, and she really can't wait to surprise Quinn with it.

"We've talked it about, you know?" Teresa admits some time later over the caprese sandwiches that Rachel had made for them. "Kids" she clarifies when Rachel only stares at her in confusion. "After you and Quinn announced her pregnancy, Santana asked me if it was something I'd want someday." Rachel nods in understanding, though their announcement had been less of an announcement and more Santana making an educated guess based on Quinn's lack of alcohol consumption that that they couldn't deny. "I guess she wanted to make sure it wouldn't turn into a problem for us," Teresa goes on to admit, looking a little uncomfortable as she says it.

"Oh," Rachel breathes out, realization washing over her.

Santana had been surprisingly noninvasive in those months when Quinn and Rachel had first debated children, but she'd checked in with both of them in little ways with a vague question or comment now and then to make sure they were both okay with whatever decisions they were making in private. It wasn't until Quinn's pregnancy had been confirmed that Santana had actually asked Rachel (far away from Quinn's vicinity) if she was really okay with becoming a mother right now, having known that Rachel hadn't felt anywhere near ready when they'd last officially spoken on the subject. Santana had been  _worried_  about them, so Rachel really shouldn't be surprised that she'd confided in her girlfriend.

"It's a good thing to be on the same page about," Rachel murmurs, feeling a touch of embarrassment burn at the tips of her ears.

"Yeah," Teresa agrees with a sympathetic smile.

It hasn't escaped Rachel's notice that Teresa hasn't actually said what her answer to Santana's question had been. "So…I guess you are?" When Teresa only looks at her blankly, she prompts, "On the same page?"

"We are," Teresa confirms, her smile turning a touch mischievous, "really not in any hurry to take that step," she continues after a beat, laughing lightly. "I'm mostly just happy the whole living together thing has been working out so well."

"I knew it would," Rachel boasts with a proud smile, pleased that her decision to play matchmaker on that fateful day at the art gallery has worked out so well. She supposes she can wait a while longer before  _gently_  encouraging them to take the next step. "You're really good for Santana," she says more seriously.

"She's good for me too," Teresa shares with a tender smile. "And good  _to_  me."

Rachel isn't surprised at all to hear that. Santana might have her little personality quirks, as do they all, but she's also fiercely loyal to the people she loves, and she obviously loves Teresa. She's seemed happier in the last year than she's been since—well, since Brittany. Rachel is happy for her—for both of them—and she's also happy that she and Quinn have gained another good friend in Teresa. And when that friend happens to volunteer to lend her artistic skills to their daughter's nursery, it's even better.

The backpack that Teresa had brought with her contains a selection of her own smaller paintbrushes and a small, sample-sized can of Black Satin paint—because like the white, even the black can't just be called  _black_ —that she'd taken the liberty of buying. "It's best not to mix paint types," she explains, and she won't really need any other colors beyond the yellows and the white that Rachel already has on hand from the samples.

So once they're finished with lunch, Teresa gets back to work on the wall, shooing Rachel away so she can work without distraction and because, "I want you and Quinn to see it for the first time together. It's my gift to you and baby Fabray, and you already had a peek at it with the sketch."

Rachel huffs in disappointment, but she agrees to stay out of the room, distracting herself by tidying up the kitchen and then browsing the internet for potential display cases for her awards. As it turns out, she would have needed to leave Teresa to her own devices anyway because it's not long before Quinn and Santana return, each carrying bags emblazoned with the logos of various designer boutiques.

"You went shopping too," Rachel notes with some trepidation.

"Well, duh," Santana replies with a smirk. "A little retail therapy is good for the soul."

Quinn sets down her bags on the coffee table with a smile before diving inside to show Rachel her bounty. "I got the cutest onesie," she gushes, pulling out a jumper covered in colorful little stars. "It's got stars on it, which I knew you'd appreciate, and the sweetest little matching hat," she adds, holding up a tiny beanie.

Rachel is instantly tickled, reaching out to inspect the soft cotton outfit with a delighted grin. "It's adorable."

"I know," Quinn agrees excitedly, passing it into Rachel's hands before diving back into her bag. "And I found this." She holds up a tiny yellow and white checkered sun hat that's so incredibly  _Quinn_ that Rachel has to laugh. "It's not technically for a newborn, but she'll grow into it."

"Unless she inherits your smurf-like genes," Santana snarks.

Rachel only sticks her tongue out at Santana, making her laugh. "Is all of this baby clothes?" she asks, gesturing to the bags. She's happy that Santana had taken Quinn out for the day, but—well, she'd like to go baby shopping too!

"Not all of it. There's also a diaper bag." And then Quinn is pulling out a patterned beige and black bag that looks more like an oversized purse to show Rachel.

"Gucci?" Rachel notes with wide eyes. She didn't even know Gucci  _made_  diaper bags.

Quinn nods happily. "And it comes with a changing pad."

"Do I even want to see the credit card bill?" Rachel wonders absently as she inspects the diaper bag—which is very nice and, thankfully, not leather.

"Santana bought us the bag," Quinn points out with a grateful smile at their friend.

Rachel's eyebrows shoot up as her gaze flies to Santana, who's rolling her eyes in an attempt to downplay the thoughtful gesture. "Hey, if I left it to you two, you'd be carrying around some fugly plaid and argyle thing."

"There's nothing wrong with plaid," Rachel defends, but she can't repress the smile at their friend's generosity. "Thank you, Santana," she says sweetly, as touched by this gift as the one Teresa is currently painting for them.

"Yeah, yeah," Santana dismisses with a wave of her hand. "I bought myself one too. A purse, not a diaper bag obviously," she clarifies, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "I also bought some fun new things to wear for my girl," she shares with a wolfish grin as she glances around the apartment. "Where  _is_  my girl, anyway? Did she take off without me?" she asks with a frown.

"She's in the nursery finishing up with the painting."

"You said you wouldn't make her do all the work," Quinn accuses with a trace of disappointment in her voice.

"I'll have you know that I more than pulled my weight, Quinn," Rachel insists, pointing to the paint splatters on her shirt as evidence. "Teresa is just adding a bit of…trim," she settles on after a slight hesitation.

"Oh, yeah. She mentioned maybe doing that," Santana mutters, nodding to Rachel. "Guess we should have hit up Z'Baby Company too. Killed a little more time."

Quinn's eyebrow inches up. "Okay, what's going on? What trim is she adding?"

"You'll see," Rachel promises with a grin, but it fades quickly when Quinn takes a determined step towards the hallway. "Later," she quickly amends, grabbing onto Quinn's hand to stop her from rushing into the nursery. "You'll see  _later_. When she's done." She gently tugs her wife back toward the sofa. "You should sit now," she suggests, urging Quinn down. "Get off your feet and rest after all that shopping."

"I don't like it when you keep things from me, Rachel," Quinn reminds her warily.

"This is a good thing," Rachel promises soothingly. "Trust me."

"Yeah, Q," Santana offers in support. "Just chill for awhile and let Resa do her thing."

Quinn sighs impatiently, but she does ease back into the sofa, and Rachel settles onto the adjacent chair, asking them what else they'd done today in a blatant attempt to distract Quinn from her suspicious curiosity. They chat for another forty-five minutes before Teresa comes out with yellow and black paint smudges on her fingers and one small white smear on her cheek.

Santana is up in a heartbeat, greeting her girlfriend with a soft kiss and a teasing, "I love when you're all paint smudged," before gently brushing a thumb over her cheek.

A faint blush stains Teresa's face as she swats Santana's hand away. "Well, some of us were working while you were off," she glances at the bags on the coffee table, her brows arching in surprise, "buying out Fifth Avenue?"

"Hey, that was hard work," Santana insists with a grin, running her hands over Teresa's hips, "and I think you're gonna appreciate some of the results later on tonight." Her voice drops into a low purr over the words, and Teresa looks unmistakably intrigued.

"Speaking of hard work," Quinn unabashedly interrupts them, "care to enlighten me on what you were working on that these two apparently know about and I don't?"

Undeterred by Quinn's mildly petulant tone, Teresa chuckles as she gently extracts herself from Santana's grasp. "Just a little enhancement to your décor." She nods to Rachel. "With your wife's approval, of course."

"But she wouldn't let me see it until she was done," Rachel complains good-naturedly, as eager as Quinn to see the finished promise.

"Which I now am," Teresa informs them with a smile.

"So what are we waiting for?" Quinn demands, already struggling to push herself up off the sofa. "I want to see our nursery." Rachel jumps up to help her wife stand but is pleasantly surprised when Santana gets there first, holding out a hand that Quinn gratefully accepts.

"Quinn, baby, it still needs to air out," Rachel reminds her worriedly.

Quinn shoots her a look of warning. "Rachel, I'm looking in that room right now."

Rachel knows better than to argue—she won't be stopping her wife from seeing their daughter's nursery today. "Only for a minute," she relents, "and you need your mask." She's already moving to retrieve it from the closet while Quinn rolls her eyes.

Santana snickers, but the snarky remark that Rachel expects doesn't come. Instead, she's asking, "lt's a respirator, right? Not one of those wussy little dust masks?"

"Careful, Santana," Quinn teases, taking the mask from Rachel. "Your soft side is showing."

Santana scoffs at that, crossing her arms. "Hey...that's my doctor side."

"Your squishy, emo doctor side," Teresa coos, playfully scratching at Santana's stomach.

Santana bats her hand away with a blush and a muttered, "Whatever."

Rachel grins at the both of them. "Rest assured, Santana. I would never allow Quinn anywhere near that room without adequate protection from the potentially harmful chemicals."

"A simple  _yes_  would have done the trick," Santana grumbles, but Rachel can recognize the trace of affection in it.

Once Quinn has her mask, they all move to the nursery, though Teresa stops them at the door with a tentative expression. "If you don't like it, I can paint over it."

"I'm sure we'll love it," Rachel assures her, already having a very good idea of what she'll see inside.

"You'd  _better_ love it," Santana warns them with a glare.

Teresa bites back a grin at her girlfriend's protective streak, shaking her head. "It's fine if you don't. I've survived New York art critics. I think can handle it if you tell me you'd rather have something else on your nursery wall." And then she opens the door and gestures for them to step inside.

Rachel checks to make sure that Quinn's mask is firmly in place before taking her hand and leading her into the room. There's still a noticeable paint smell, though it's not at all overwhelming thanks to the fan and the window, so she breathes a little easier and turns her attention to the finished room. Her eyes go immediately to the wall that Teresa had used as her canvas, and she blinks at the sight.

A swirl of yellow stars dances across the green background, leading up to a crescent moon that hangs in the upper corner of the room closest to the window, and on that moon sleeps a black and white cat that looks very much like Oliver.

She can't believe that Teresa was able to create that in only a couple of hours, and a delighted, "Oh, wow," falls from her lips. She feels Quinn's hand tighten around her own, and her gaze immediately shifts to her wife, who's staring at the wall through shimmering eyes. Rachel silently damns the mask that she needs to wear because it hides half of Quinn's expression from her. She does, however, hear the gasp and notice the way Quinn's free hand flies up to the mask, as if she wants to rip it away. "Quinn, baby?"

Quinn's gaze moves to hers, tears spilling freely over her lashes. "It's…" she trails off, shaking her head as she lets go of Rachel's hand and flees the room.

Rachel only spares a brief glance at Teresa and Santana, who'd followed them in, before rushing out after her wife. She vaguely hears Santana mumble, "Hormones," to Teresa, but her focus is solely on Quinn, who's removed her mask and let it fall to floor while she leans against the hallway wall with trembling fingers pressed to her lips and tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Happy tears?" Rachel asks hesitantly, lifting a hand to Quinn's cheek as she stares into glistening eyes.

A wet laugh bubbles out from curved lips, and Quinn nods, brushing absently at her tears. " _Very_  happy. It's  _perfect_ ," she breathes in awe, grateful eyes moving from Rachel to Teresa, who'd stepped out of the nursery behind them. Then she's swiftly moving forward to envelop Teresa in a tearful hug. "Thank you so much. I love it."

Teresa exhales in relief, returning the hug. "I was a little worried there for a second."

Quinn releases her with an embarrassed smile, wiping away the moisture beneath her eyes again. "My emotions have been a little out of control lately, and that mask is a bitch to cry around," she explains with a soft laugh. "I can't believe you did all of that."

"It was nothing," Teresa dismisses humbly. "Rachel did a good bit of the painting," she acknowledges with a nod. "It was a team effort."

Rachel shakes her head. "As much as I love taking credit for fabulous ideas, I can't claim this one. You're the reason our nursery turned out so well." She doesn't know how she's ever going to repay Teresa for all of her help today. "I'm going to hug you now," she announces before doing just that. "Thank you, Teresa. You're amazing."

"Hey, don't be macking on my woman," Santana interrupts, gently nudging them apart. "You've got your own."

Rolling her eyes, Rachel turns to Quinn and takes her hands with a soft smile. "Do you really love it?"

"So much," Quinn confirms, tugging her closer. "And I love  _you_." She leans forward to grace Rachel's lips with a tender kiss. When she pulls back, there's a determined grin on her face. "Now grab me that mask. I wanna see our beautiful nursery again."

And so Rachel does, bending to retrieve the mask before she escorts her wife back into the room where she watches Quinn slowly spin around to take in every inch of their daughter's future home with happiness shining in her eyes. Rachel eventually tears her gaze away from her wife so she can admire the nursery again, silently noting how perfectly the yellow stars complement the green walls (and later she'll point out how right she was about that to Quinn).

They invite Santana and Teresa to stay for dinner in appreciation of everything they've done for them today—each in their own unique way, of course—and then they promptly order takeout because they've all worked hard and no one is in the mood to cook.

Much later, after Santana and Teresa have gone home and Quinn has shown Rachel her appreciation for the nursery in very intimate detail, they lie tangled together in their bed while Rachel happily chases their daughter's movements across Quinn's belly. It's the perfect way to end what she considers to be a very productive day.

"What do you think of Stella as a potential name?" Quinn asks out of the blue.

Rachel's gaze drifts up to meet sparkling hazel eyes. "Where did that come from?" she wonders, forever intrigued by the mysterious workings of her wife's mind.

Quinn smiles sweetly. "The stars in the nursery. Since you're all about name meanings, Stella means  _star_. I think it's pretty appropriate."

A besotted smile pulls at Rachel's mouth as she rubs a gentle circle over the spot where their daughter is currently kicking. "Our little star." She's utterly enamored with the nickname, deciding right then that she's going to keep using it until they can settle on an actual name—and probably long after that as well.

"There's a sonnet too," Quinn murmurs. " _Astrophil and Stella._ "

"Which you're going to recite to me, I'm sure," Rachel guesses with a giggle. She does so love it when Quinn starts quoting poetry.

Quinn chuckles, shaking her head against her pillow. "Actually, I don't have that one memorized," she admits, surprising Rachel, "but it's about a star lover and his star, so also appropriate."

Rachel catches her lower lip between her teeth, considering the name more seriously. "It's cute."

Quinn easily picks up the uncertainty in her tone. "But?"

"I just keep hearing Marlon Brando shouting  _Stella_  in my head, and I'm not sure I could get past that," Rachel admits with an apologetic smile. It had been the first thing to pop into her mind when Quinn had said the name, and despite how much she adores the meaning, she can't seem to separate it from its pop culture association.

"Fair point," Quinn concedes with a tiny frown.

"But I do love the meaning," Rachel is quick to assure her. If it weren't for that one little negative, she'd happily put in on their list.

"What about Esther?" Quinn asks after a moment of consideration. "It's the Hebrew version."

Rachel's eyes widen in surprise "Quinn Fabray! When did you memorize a list of names that mean star?"

Laughing, Quinn shakes her head again. "I didn't. I just remember Stella from the sonnet, and I only know Esther because she has her very own book in the bible." Her eyebrow inches up as she curls a palm around Rachel's hip. "If you recall, that was required reading in my house."

Rachel does remember. It's also a book in the Tanakh, though she can only vaguely recall the story at the moment. "Don't you think Esther might be a little… _mature_ for a baby?"

"She'd eventually grow into it."

"When she's sixty," Rachel agrees jokingly.

Quinn sighs again, rolling her eyes. "Just say you hate it, Rachel."

"I  _don't_  hate it," Rachel insists, briefly tracing her thumb beneath her wife's lower lip in an attempt to erase her frown. "I just don't l _ove_ it." It simply feels wrong for a baby—for  _their_  baby. "But if you do, then we can certainly put it on the list."

"I'd rather put Stella on there," Quinn grumbles stubbornly.

"Can it go on as a  _maybe_?" Rachel asks hopefully, deciding that she might be willing to give the name some further consideration if Quinn really likes it. "I mean, if it wasn't for good old Stanley Kowalski, I'd be all for it, but some things just can't be unheard, Quinn."

Quinn laughs again, lifting a hand to brush back a messy lock of Rachel's hair. "It can be a maybe."

Maybe they'll even find a name they both love before their little star actually arrives, but at least now they have a nursery to put her in—once they buy some furniture for it anyway.


	4. Fall Into You

With the nursery painted, they can finally make some progress on the décor and the furniture. They already have a pretty good idea of what they want from the online sites, but they want to see some of the cribs and changing tables up close and in person to get a feel for how much space they'll actually take up, so armed with measurements, they venture out on a morning excursion to Tribeca to check out Babesta.

Quinn has read good things about the store, and maybe she also wants to get a look at the trendy baby clothes they supposedly offer. Their daughter can never have too many outfits, though Rachel tends to disagree. Quinn mostly just ignores her on that particular subject. Rachel's fashion sense is markedly better than it once was, but there are still one or two items in her wardrobe that Quinn wishes she could safely burn—the holiday sweaters come to mind.

(She will obviously make an exception for those plaid skirts and argyle sweaters they keep packed away with her old cheerleading uniform for  _special occasions_.)

The store is neat and bright on the inside and larger than it appears from the street, and the staff is friendly enough, but some of their baby furniture strikes them both as more stylish than functional.

"Oh, my heavens," Rachel exclaims, her horrified gaze fixed on a crib with slatted, clear acrylic sides. "It looks like a hamster cage."

Quinn barks out a spontaneous laugh before muffling it with a hand over her mouth, conscious that they're in a store full of people. "It's not that bad," she attempts through her giggles, though Rachel's comparison is pretty on point.

"Seriously, Quinn?" Rachel gestures to the crib. "We might as well put one of those little wheels in it for our daughter to exercise on."

Nearly overcome with laughter at the image, Quinn tugs her wife away from the hamster cage crib and over to one with a more traditional appearance. It's painted white, and the top corners are shaped into soft curves instead of the hard angles prevalent on so many of the other cribs they've seen, and they both like the look of it.

"It's made of medium density fiberboard," Rachel notes after thoroughly studying the attached tag.

Quinn hesitates to admit, "I don't actually know what that means."

Rachel's eyes are instantly on Quinn. "Have you not been reading any of the articles on nursery safety that I bookmarked for you?" The disappointment is clear in both her tone and her expression.

"You bookmarked  _fifty-seven_  articles, Rachel," Quinn points out, shaking her head. "I had less reading to do at Yale."

"What subject could possibly be more important than our daughter's safety?" Rachel challenges, crossing her arms and tapping her foot.

Quinn suppresses the urge to roll her eyes, because Rachel isn't wrong—she's just slightly fanatical. "I'm sorry," she offers as contritely as she can manage. "I've been a little preoccupied with other things...like  _moving_." Rachel's expression softens considerably with the reminder. "But I promise to catch up on my reading as soon as I can." And that makes Rachel smile. "In the meantime, can you just give me the Cliff's Notes version?"

Rachel sighs in mild exasperation. "Medium density fiberboard is made completely of recycled materials. Old wood making new wood," she explains in the simplest terms. "It's actually very green."

"So that's a good thing." Rachel is all about being green whenever possible.

"On the surface, yes," she responds, shrugging. "Except that it's often bound together with resins that contain formaldehyde, which is toxic."

"So that's bad," Quinn realizes with a frown.

"Very bad," Rachel confirms with a nod. "I don't see any certification on this crib that it uses completely nontoxic materials, but we can ask the sales clerk to be sure."

So that's exactly what they do. Unfortunately, the clerk has no idea how the fiberboard is made or if the company's baby products are certified, and since their daughter's health and safety come first, and there's really only one crib in this store that they actually like (that doesn't look like a hamster cage or baby prison cell), they cross Babesta off their list for baby furniture. (And Quinn makes a mental note to  _actually_ read some of those articles like she promised.)

A few other items in the store do catch their eyes, however, like a whimsical mini-library made of stacked shelves and a cute little rug decorated with polka dots and one single star. Quinn convinces Rachel to create a baby registry so their friends and family can have plenty of ideas for potential baby gifts, and it's possible that she goes slightly crazy with the scanner they give her, but Rachel seems content to let her have her fun. The rug comes home with them though. Not everything can be left to a registry and the capricious tastes of their friends.

They stop at Albee Baby on the way back to the apartment, hoping the baby furniture there will be more to their liking. They really want to get the nursery finished with plenty of time to spare so that they can both relax for awhile before the baby comes.

Unlike Babesta, Albee feels slightly more cluttered inside, but it's only because they have so much crammed into the finite space. Quinn is most impressed with their cribs. Where Babesta had tended towards artsy, modern designs, Albee stocks a more traditional selection, and almost all of them have earned a greenguard gold certification that they're safe.

Quinn finds herself enamored with a crib made from New Zealand pine that boasts an adjustable mattress position and the ability to be converted into a toddler bed in the future. It has a curved headboard and a white finish (that the clerk assures them is completely nontoxic milk paint), and both Quinn and Rachel can picture it perfectly in their nursery-in-progress. There's also a matching dresser available with a detachable changing tray, so when the measurements fit with the space they have available, they decide to take the plunge and buy the set.

Luckily, Albee Baby delivers.

They're given an anticipated delivery window of between three and five o'clock on Friday, but when the truck still isn't there by the time Rachel absolutely needs to leave for the theatre, Quinn is left with strict instructions not to touch the crib or the dresser when they finally do arrive. "I mean it, Quinn," she warns sternly. "Don't even open the boxes."

It still irks Quinn that the furniture is coming unassembled, but the clerk at the store had promised them that they're both easy builds. Paying to have the finished product shipped on a truck isn't even an option—something about voiding any warranty claims for damages during shipment—but they're welcome to bring them back to the store for assembly. They would just need to have a way to get them back home themselves. Quinn thinks it's ridiculous. If they had their own means of transporting furniture back and forth, they wouldn't need to have them delivered in the first place!

"What if I get the big, strong delivery man to open them?" Quinn teases.

Rachel purses her lips, looking entirely unamused. "You are not to employ any feminine wiles on the delivery man." Quinn silently laughs, doubting that her feminine wiles would even work at this stage of her pregnancy. She's thinking more along the lines of working the poor, helpless expectant mother angle. She's not above milking that annoying stereotype when it works in her favor. She doesn't mention that to Rachel, who insists, "I'll take care of assembling them when I get home."

Quinn snickers. "No, you won't. You'll collapse into bed when you get home." Rachel has been coming home more exhausted than usual lately, and Quinn knows it's due to all the extra work she's been putting in to get their new apartment into shape on top of doing eight shows a week.

"In the morning then," she amends determinedly.

"You have a matinee tomorrow. You won't have time."

"Then I'll put them together on Monday," Rachel insists, looking mildly irked by Quinn's naysaying.

"Whatever you say, sweetie," Quinn defers, kissing her wife sweetly before she sends her off to the theatre.

The delivery man—who happens to be a woman—arrives fifteen minutes later with two large boxes stacked on a dolly, apologizing profusely for the delay, and Quinn directs her into the nursery where she easily offloads the boxes and carefully sets them in the corner.

"That's really cute," she comments, nodding to the design on the wall. "Did you paint it yourself?"

Quinn smiles softly, feeling another flutter of happiness as her eyes linger over the stars and moon and kitten that Teresa had gifted to them. "No. A friend of ours did it." And it had been the most delightful surprise.

"Nice. Wish I had a friend that talented."

"It definitely has its perks." She'd had some doubts about Teresa in the beginning, thanks in part to the less than ideal circumstances in which they'd originally met, but she's happy to have been proven wrong. The woman really does seem to make Santana very happy, and Quinn certainly has no objections to getting a customized mural on her nursery wall for free. She highly suspects  _that_  had been Rachel's secret intent when she'd asked Teresa to help her paint.

The delivery woman turns the now empty dolly around, smiling at Quinn and offering her congratulations on the baby before she's on her way. Quinn sees her out and locks the door behind her before she pads back into the nursery, heading over to the boxes to examine them more closely. She reaches out a tentative hand to the box that contains the crib and tests the packaging tape along the edge, frowning when she realizes that she'll need a xacto knife to open it. She was so hoping that it would just peel right off and she could sneak a peek, claiming that it just fell open.

"Well, that sucks," she mutters on a sigh, tapping a fingernail against the box as she debates the wisdom of ignoring Rachel's warning and just opening the box anyway. It's not like she'd really be hurting anything. "Oh, what the hell," she decides, abandoning the nursery just long enough to root around in the very small toolbox they keep inside the laundry room in search of the knife. She finds it easily enough before she returns to the boxes and cuts through the tape.

She careful not to lift anything other than the cardboard flaps, peering down inside to see a labyrinth of wood and metal pieces squeezed together in a completely indiscernible mass.

"This is gonna be fun," she mutters, wishing again that they could have gotten these prebuilt. She's definitely going to make sure that Rachel waits until her day off to tackle putting them together, no matter how eager Quinn is to see the finished products in their nursery.

Much later, Rachel pouts at her when she comes home to find the boxes already open, but Quinn claims that she only wanted make sure they received the color they'd ordered, promising that, "I only lifted the knife," and mostly tuning out the peevish reprimand that follows before distracting Rachel with a kiss.

The boxes stay untouched for the next two days, but Rachel is up bright and early on Monday morning in a pair of worn jeans and the  _I Speak Fluent Show Tunes_ t-shirt that Quinn had given her for Hanukkah three years ago. Their meager toolbox is in her hand as soon as breakfast is cleaned up, and Quinn chases her into the nursery to make sure she doesn't break anything—including herself.

"Are you sure you can do this?" she asks skeptically as she watches Rachel unpack the crib—piece after piece of finished wood and shiny metal and nuts and bolts and screws piling up on the floor at her feet.

Rachel has actually proven to be surprisingly adept with minor repairs around the apartment over the years, tightening loose cabinet doors and handles on drawers and hot-gluing ceramic tiles back into place, but they've always left the big things up to their super.

Rachel huffs. "I'm perfectly capable of reading instructions, Quinn." She waves the paper booklet through the air before opening it up and flipping through the pages. "How hard can this really be?"

Quinn worries her lip as she leans against the wall with her arms crossed, hoping that question doesn't come back to bite them in the ass.

As it turns out, when Rachel said she could read the instructions, she'd actually meant  _read them._  Unlike most people who jump right in and read while they build, Rachel begins to carefully catalogue every part and piece, matching them to the photos in the manual and making sure nothing is missing, before she reads through every page of the assembly instructions. Quinn gets bored after five minutes of watching her and wanders off to get some reading of her own done—the more entertaining kind.

(She really will get around to those articles on nursery safety eventually.)

She intends to check back in on Rachel the moment she hears the first sound of actual work being done, but she gets waylaid by the persistent call of nature that she absolutely needs to answer. By the time she's on the way back from the bathroom, Rachel is apparently done with her reading and already far enough along to be biting back a disgruntled, "Ow! Son of a..."

Quinn rushes into the nursery to find her wife on the floor, cupping her left hand and looking annoyed as she glares down at the two pieces of the crib in front of her. "Rachel, are you okay?" she asks in concern.

Rachel glances up at her, chagrined. "I'm fine. Just a minor injury." She holds up her hand to show off a small, thin cut beneath her thumb that's peppered with little droplets of blood. "The screwdriver slipped."

Quinn bites back her smile. It really isn't funny, and she's relieved that Rachel didn't seriously hurt herself, but it really doesn't bode well for the rest of this project. "Maybe we should ask someone for help," she suggests as she mentally shuffles through their list of friends and family, trying to determine which of them would make the best handy person.

"I don't need help, Quinn," Rachel protests, offended. "It's not like I'm building this from scratch."

"I know that," Quinn soothes, glancing at the hardware-covered floor around her, "but there are a lot of pieces here, sweetie, and you're bleeding," she points out, gesturing to Rachel's hand.

"It's only a scrape," Rachel defends, brushing her thumb across the wound in an attempt to wipe away the blood, but it only smears across her skin before more trickles to the surface, and she glares down at her injury in betrayal. "I just need a Band-Aid."

"I'll get one," Quinn offers quickly, pointing at her wife. "You just sit there and don't touch anything." The last thing she wants is bloodstains on their brand new white crib. She ignores Rachel's little huff as she waddles back to the bathroom and retrieves a large Band-Aid along with the antibacterial cream and a damp washcloth before returning to the nursery—careful to keep a curious Oliver from following her inside. "Let me see your hand," she demands, holding out her own in silent petition. Rachel dutifully lifts her injured hand over her head, gazing up at Quinn with a mixture of exasperation and amusement while Quinn carefully wipes the blood from her skin.

"You know, I could have done this myself."

Quinn grins down at her, uncapping the antibacterial cream with the intent of rubbing a small amount into Rachel's cut. God only knows what kind of germs that screwdriver has picked up over the years. "Maybe I want to practice for when our daughter needs some motherly care."

Rachel's expression goes instantly soft, and she looks besotted with the idea for all of a few seconds before her eyes widen in horror. "Our daughter will  _not_ be injured.  _Ever_!"

"Well, obviously, that's my preference too," Quinn agrees with a soft chuckle as she carefully places the Band-Aid over the disinfected cut. "But realistically, she's going to end up with a few cuts and scrapes when she gets older and wants to learn how to ride a bike or decides to go climbing trees or jumping over fences."

Rachel slowly lowers her bandaged hand back down into her lap, her face soft and dreamy all over again. Quinn can almost see the images of their little girl playing behind expressive brown eyes, because they're playing behind hers as well.

"You imagine her being very athletic," Rachel eventually comments.

"I imagine her being a normal, active kid," Quinn corrects with a smile of her own. She also imagines dance classes and music lessons and a bed being used as a stage for their daughter to jump all over as she belts out Disney songs.

"Well, as long as she only comes home with a few minor scrapes, I suppose I won't freak out too terribly."

Quinn laughs outright then, knowing her wife far better than that. "Yes, you will." She already freaks out over every little move that Quinn makes, worried she might hurt herself or the baby. Her overprotective streak will be so much worse once their daughter is actually here.

Rachel sticks her tongue out at Quinn. "Laugh if you want, Quinn, but our little girl's safety is of the utmost importance to me," she vows earnestly, picking up her screwdriver again. "Starting with this crib."

Quinn sobers considerably. She and Rachel are absolutely on the same page about that, and she lays a protective hand over her belly, smiling at her wife. "You know, Peter would probably come over to help you with that if we asked him." And that's more than a little painful for Quinn to even suggest, but he's currently doing a play that leaves his mornings free, and he does have the muscle to put furniture together fairly easily. She's sure Aileen wouldn't mind loaning him out for a few hours. "Or maybe Sarah," she adds almost as an afterthought, remembering her to be fairly good with a toolkit and mechanical things, although they would need to wait until she's done with her workday.

A scowl immediately appears on Rachel's face. "We are  _not_  asking your ex-girlfriend to build our daughter's crib!"

Quinn rolls her eyes, not failing to notice that Rachel is only taking issue with Sarah and not Peter. "I'm willing to let  _your_ ex-boyfriend do it."

"We're not asking him either," Rachel informs her testily. "We don't need outside help putting together our baby's nursery."

Quinn quirks an eyebrow. "You let Teresa help paint it."

"That was different," Rachel mutters, cheeks flushing. "I couldn't have done that," she gestures back to the painting on the wall, "on my own. And I never had  _sex_  with Teresa," she adds tellingly, pointing up at Quinn. "And neither have you."

Quinn realizes then that she's picked the wrong two people to suggest for this particular job. Friendly relationships or not, Rachel obviously doesn't want either one of their exes doing something for their baby that she considers to be her duty as a mother-to-be. "You're determined to build both of these without any help, aren't you?"

Rachel's defensive posture relaxes slightly, and her lips quirk into a half smile. "Of course not. I'm going to build them with  _your_ help." She picks up the instruction manual and offers it up to Quinn, her smile growing. "You can read while I build."

Quinn warily takes the manual with her free hand. "Didn't you just spend twenty minutes reading this over?"

Rachel nods. "And now I know how it's supposed to go together, so your job will be easy. Just refresh my memory on the step-by-step."

Smiling down at her wife, Quinn shakes her head indulgently. "Okay, but I'm not sitting all the way down there on the hard floor. If you want my help, then I need to a chair or a pillow."

Rachel practically flies up from her cross-legged position—really, it's impressive how fast she manages the move—and plants a quick kiss on Quinn's cheek. "I'll be right back." She starts to rush away before she pauses, turning back to grab the rag and antibacterial cream from Quinn's other hand. "I'll just take care of putting these away too."

Quinn giggles, watching her jog out of the room before beginning to absently flip through the manual. It only takes a moment before she hears music start to play from the living room, wafting in just loudly enough to provide them with a background soundtrack while they work, and then Rachel reappears with one of the chairs from their dining room set, kicking the door shut behind her before she places it on the floor next to her workspace with a dramatic flourish and gestures for Quinn to sit.

"Your throne, my lady."

With a giggle, Quinn sits in the chair while Rachel resumes her position on the floor with screwdriver in hand, awaiting Quinn's instructions, so Quinn begins to read while her wife works.

There's actually a fair amount of interpreting diagrams involved, and Quinn ends up holding out the pages for Rachel to view when she can't manage to describe what part Rachel needs. Rachel studies them with the same intensity that she studies scripts or sheet music, tongue poking out between her teeth while she finds what she needs on the floor. She lets Quinn help her hold some of the pieces up, careful to make certain that she's not actually lifting any of the weight but only stabilizing the wood so it doesn't fall on Rachel.

Quinn can see why Rachel had stabbed herself with the screwdriver earlier, because it seems fairly impossible for just one person to hold some of these pieces together while simultaneously tightening the screws. Rachel's muscles flex with every lift and twist and turn, and Quinn finds her eyes glued to the sight while her body grows increasingly aroused by this particular facet of her wife's personality.

She shifts in her chair at least a dozen times, silently scolding her libido for choosing right now to wake back up again. She's been fairly certain that the persistent horniness that she'd experienced all through her second trimester had finally begun to calm down now that she's entered her third. Yeah, it still flairs up on occasion, reminding her that her sex drive is still very much intact, but more often than not lately, she finds that she's too tired or too uncomfortable or too self-conscious about her body for most of her stray urges to really catch fire. It's mostly been Rachel who's initiated their intimacy over the last few weeks. Of course, Quinn has also spent the last month preoccupied with the move, which has sapped most of her energy, so maybe her libido has merely been muted by the need for some extra sleep.

Today, it's coming through loud and clear.

The nursery is really the last big project they have to finish on a schedule—most of the new furniture purchases and other little touches that she'd like to add around the apartment can wait until after the baby comes—and Quinn isn't about to interrupt Rachel's ( _really_ ) impressive progress on the furniture with an unplanned trip to bed. So Quinn ignores the familiar heat that's gathering low in her belly in favor of being an actual grownup and helping Rachel get this done today.

She just wishes that Rachel wasn't such a temptation getting it done.

Despite the somewhat daunting instruction manual—and Quinn realizes fairly early in the process that it also includes the instructions for converting the crib into a bed that they won't even need for a few more years—Rachel successfully gets the crib assembled before lunchtime.

"There. All done. No outside help required," she boasts with a proud grin and hands on her hips. "Well, except yours, of course." She steps forward, pressing a soft, grateful kiss to Quinn's lips, and Quinn barely resists the very strong urge to deepen it, push her wife up against the nearest wall, and show her exactly how  _hot_  she finds this unexpected mechanical proficiency of hers. "Thank you, baby," Rachel whispers when she pulls back.

Quinn clears her throat, shaking off her arousal. "I should be thanking you." She turns her attention back to the finished crib, admiring how it turned out as she glides a hand along the smooth railing with a smile. "You did good."

Rachel's eyes sparkle with pride. "You can thank me with lunch." She plants her hands on her lower back, arching into a stretch that pulls the material of her t-shirt tight against her breasts, and a little groan of relief falls from her lips. "I could use a break."

Quinn bites back a frustrated whimper at her wife's careless display of sexiness. "Lunch. Yes," she agrees, nodding her head. "I can do that." Food will definitely distract her from her arousal—replace one primal need with another.

She leaves Rachel to position the crib against the wall while she makes a beeline for the kitchen, grabbing herself a nice, cold glass of water to help her cool down before turning her attention to lunch.

Thankfully, the distraction of food preparation does manage to take her mind off of sex. She's barely even thinking about it by the time Rachel wanders out to the breakfast bar to sit down with her nose already buried in the instruction manual for the combination dresser and changing table. It's not that Quinn doesn't find her wife's diligent concentration to be its own brand of sexy, but it's considerably less so than the manual labor that she'd been engaged in earlier.

Rachel lays the instructions aside while they eat, and Quinn's attention easily shifts entirely to her food. She's even hungrier than she'd realized, which is an almost constant state of being with a growing baby making demands on her appetite. Sometimes it's in the form of a very specific craving that sneaks up on her out of nowhere–like chocolate caramel macarons or pistachio ice cream—and other times it's the ability to pack away a double bacon cheeseburger, two orders of fries, and a milkshake and still have room for dessert. She honestly prefers the former to the latter, even when it means sending Rachel out for ice cream in the middle of the night. At least that way she can pretend that she'll actually get her body back after she gives birth.

They eat in comfortable silence for awhile before Rachel breaks it with an unexpected, "Rosemary!"

Quinn slowly lowers the glass of water she'd been sipping to the counter, furrowing her brows as she eyes her wife. "If you're trying to figure out what seasoning I used in the wrap, it's paprika and garlic."

Rachel rolls her eyes. "I'm thinking of names for our  _daughter_ , Quinn. Rosemary is sweet and sophisticated and also a nod to the talented singer and actress, Rosemary Clooney." And that's when Quinn notices that it's her version of  _Mambo Italiano_  that's currently playing from the speakers in the living room. Rachel really does have a very eclectic musical library. "I'll need to look up the meaning," Rachel goes on to say, "but it's bound to be better than  _ewe_."

Quinn purses her lips, darting her eyes away from Rachel's expectant gaze. "I have to veto that one."

"Why?" Rachel challenges with a frown "It's a perfectly lovely name. Rosemary Fabray," she tests out.

Quinn sighs. "I dated a Rosemary once," she admits as she meets Rachel's eyes again, feeling the last ember of her libido being smothered by her wife's cool expression.

"I don't remember any Rosemarys," she mutters with a frown.

Quinn isn't surprised. She hasn't failed to notice that Rachel has very specifically avoided suggesting every variation of a name she knows belongs to one of the women from Quinn's past. It's fairly impressive that, until now, she's also managed to avoid any of the names she  _didn't_ know about—because Quinn knows for a fact that she didn't tell Rachel about  _all_ of them. "It was only for a few weeks near the end of my second year at Yale." During the serial dating phase she'd gone through after Kylie had dumped her. "Before I met Sarah," she clarifies, noticing Rachel's perplexed expression. "I think you called her Rosalie."

Rachel scowls the moment the name clicks. "You're right. That's a terrible name. Forget I mentioned it. In fact, it's a terrible spice too," she decides, sliding off her chair to march toward the cabinet where Quinn keeps her spices. "I'm going to throw it out right now!"

"You're being ridiculous," Quinn laughingly accuses, but Rachel already has the bottle of rosemary in her hand. "Don't you dare throw that away, Rachel," she cautions more seriously, pointing a finger at her wife in warning. She's not losing her spices over a woman she spent a few weeks hooking up with ten years ago.

Huffing in annoyance, Rachel spins around with a pout, but she does set the rosemary safely down on the counter. "You didn't date anyone name Sage, did you? Or Ginger?" she asks sullenly, crossing her arms.

Quinn bites back a smile at her wife's adorable peevishness. "No, but I did make out with a Saffron once."

Rachel's eyes narrow on her suspiciously. "You're making that up. No one names their child  _Saffron_."

"Someone obviously did. There's even a song about one," Quinn points out—and she really did spend a drunken hour kissing a girl named Saffron at a graduation party right before she'd moved to New York. The kissing had ended abruptly after Quinn accidentally called her  _Sarah_ , but she isn't about to tell Rachel about that little detail right now.

"What song?" Rachel challenges, clearly not believing her.

" _Mellow Yellow._ "

She watches Rachel begin to mouth the lyrics to herself, only needing to complete the very first line before she growls, "Sonofabitch. The saffron is going too."

She turns back to the cabinet, barely lifting her hand before Quinn stops her with a laughing, "Don't even think about it!"

Rachel whips around again, battling a smile of her own. "I hope you know that your dating history is severely turning me off the spice rack."

Quinn props her chin against her hand, grinning cheekily at her wife. "Well, yours turned me off Peter Pan, Charlie Brown, Daniel Striped Tiger, and Huckleberry Finn, and those used to be some of my favorite childhood characters. It's a shame our daughter won't be able to enjoy them."

It's Rachel's turn to laugh, loud and unreserved as she steps forward to lean across the breakfast bar. "Who's being ridiculous now?" she teases before giving Quinn a kiss that starts out light but quickly deepens.

And just like that, her libido is reignited.

Quinn pulls away slowly, taking a careful breath. "Don't you still have a dresser to build?"  _Before I drag you to bed for being so freaking irresistible_ , she thinks.

"So I do," Rachel murmurs, eyes dancing with merriment, and Quinn briefly entertains the notion that her wife knows  _exactly_ what effect she's having on Quinn right now. But then Rachel leans back and enthusiastically slaps her palms against the countertop to break the mood. "Let's go," she orders as she grabs the instruction manual. "I need my assistant."

It's not very hard for Quinn to focus on the nursery once she walks back into the room. Before lunch, Rachel had carefully arranged the crib right beneath the design on the wall, and it looks exactly the way she dreamed it would. It's absolutely perfect, surrounded by the sweeping line of stars that lead up to the moon, and Quinn spends a long moment just staring at it, imagining their baby girl sleeping peacefully under those stars.

"I love it," she exhales, feeling overly emotional.

Rachel slips an arm around her waist, leaning into her side. "Me too."

They stand together admiring the crib and the wall for another minute before Rachel lets go of Quinn with a sigh. "Time to get back to work," she announces, moving to the box that contains the dresser. "This isn't going to build itself."

Quinn sits back down in her chair to watch Rachel heave the pieces of the dresser out of the box and neatly arrange them across the floor, just as she had with the crib. This one looks way more complicated, and Rachel curses a few more times trying to get it put together, but she clearly isn't about to give up until it's finished. Little beads of perspiration dot her brow despite the fact that the air-conditioning is cranked up, and she pauses now and then to wipe them away with the back of her hand before she goes right back to her task. Her face is set in concentration as she pieces together the hardware for the drawers, fully committed to her role as handy-woman.

Clutching the instructions between her hands, Quinn bites into her lower lip and presses her thighs together while a very specific fantasy of Rachel wearing a toolbelt and nothing else takes form in her mind. It's so not appropriate for her to be thinking about in the middle of their daughter's nursery, but think about it she does—when Rachel lifts up the frame with a grunt of effort, when she slides the drawers into place and squeals in delight that they fit perfectly, when she attaches the changing tray to the top of the dresser and dances a little victory shimmy that has Quinn's mouth going dry, and when she positions it against the far wall and stands back to admire her work with hands on her hips.

"There's nothing more satisfying than a job well done." Pride and confidence practically radiate off of Rachel, tickling Quinn's senses. That level of self-assuredness has always been a major turn on for Quinn, and the effect it has on her body now is instantaneous. "What do you think?" Rachel asks, turning to gaze at her with an expectant smile.

Quinn moistens her lips as she stares intently back at her wife, letting the pages of the instruction manual futter to the floor. "I think," she drawls, hauling her body up off the chair, and Rachel predictably moves to help her, playing right into Quinn's eager hands, "you are so incredibly sexy right now," she husks, dragging Rachel closer by her belt loops.

"Well, obviously," Rachel agrees, smile turning smug as she cups Quinn's elbows. "But what do you think of our nursery set?"

"It's perfect." And it  _is_. Quinn will probably spend most of the day tomorrow crying over how perfect and absolutely  _lovely_  it is, but right now, there's an entirely different reaction taking precedence that she needs to express. " _You're_ perfect." She grazes a kiss over enticing, plump lips, sliding her hands up under the hem of Rachel's shirt. "Watching you with those tools really turned me on," she purrs before peppering a series of little kisses along Rachel's jaw.

"Quinn, I'm all sweaty," Rachel protests weakly, attempting to keep Quinn's hands from inching any higher on her damp skin.

It doesn't deter Quinn in the least. "I know." She buries her nose in the curve of Rachel's neck and inhales, her arousal spiking at the scent of perspiration on her skin. "It's so hot." She vaguely wonders if this is another weird pregnancy craving—or maybe some secret pheromone acting like an aphrodisiac because she's carrying Rachel's baby.

Rachel laughs, squirming away. " _I'm_  hot."

"Mmm." Quinn tangles her fingers into the cotton of Rachel's t-shirt, keeping her from getting too far away. "I think we've established that."

Rachel rolls her eyes. " _Hot_  as in sticky and grimy and gross."

 _Gross_ is the very last word that Quinn would use to describe what Rachel is right now, but, "We could always jump in the shower," she suggests, body throbbing enticingly at the thought of a wet and naked Rachel.

"We?" Rachel challenges impishly.

"Rachel," Quinn growls with increasing frustration. "I'm trying really hard right now not to push you against that wall and strip you naked in our baby's nursery." Her grip on Rachel's t-shirt tightens. "Now is not the time to feign ignorance."

A knowing smirk curves those tempting lips. "You wanted to jump me after I finished the crib, didn't you?"

Quinn squeezes her eyes shut, hissing out a shaky breath. "God, yes…"

Rachel drapes her arms over Quinn's shoulders, grinning. "I applaud your self-control."

"It's gone now." Decimated by the heat of Rachel's body against hers and the seductive gleam in those beloved brown eyes. "Take me to bed," Quinn demands, tugging Rachel's shirt up with single-minded determination.

Laughing, Rachel lets her strip it away to reveal a frustratingly practical blue bra, but there's still more than enough glistening skin on display to have a wanton moan working its way up from deep in Quinn's throat.

She kisses her wife hungrily then, running greedy hands over her body while her own responds with helpless urgency. Rachel glides her fingers over Quinn's shoulders and down her arms, leaving tingles in her wake, until they come to rest over her belly, and only then does she finally drag her mouth away from Quinn. "We should probably move this somewhere more appropriate."

Quinn nods around her haze of desire, letting her wife lead her out of the nursery with a come-hither smile, and her gaze lingers on Rachel's back as she bends to shoo Oliver away—tan skin moving over muscles that are well-defined from years of exercise and dance—before falling to the curve of her ass in those jeans. The smirk on Rachel's lips when she straightens is proof that she knows exactly where Quinn's eyes had been and she doesn't care in the least.

In a few steps, they're in the bedroom, and the lust that Quinn has been suppressing all day is finally given free rein. "Tell me what you need," Rachel urges sweetly, stroking a thumb along Quinn's lower lip.

The answer comes swift and easy. "You." She reaches for her wife again, attempting to unbutton her jeans. "I need  _you_."

Laughing again, Rachel shakes her head and catches Quinn's hands in an attempt to slow her down. " _How_  do you need me?" she persists, leaning forward to tease Quinn with a too brief kiss that only succeeds in pulling a frustrated whine from her. "Do you need slow and tender?" Rachel releases one of Quinn's hands so she can ghost her fingers along the curve of her cotton-covered breast. "Or fast and dirty?" she husks, dropping her hand between Quinn's legs with just enough pressure to have her moaning from the shock of pleasure.

Her knees go weak and she clings to Rachel, who easily guides her down onto the edge of their bed. "I think it needs to be fast," Quinn warns her breathlessly before pulling her in for a desperate kiss, her body throbbing with need. She can feel Rachel smile against her lips as she sinks down onto her knees between Quinn's legs, and then Rachel is pushing the material of Quinn's shirt up, breaking their kiss only so she can pull it over her head and toss it away.

"I can do fast," she brags with a smirk. "But not  _too_  fast," she promises, unfastening Quinn's maternity bra and letting it fall to the floor. "I don't want to skip the good parts." Gentle hands cup her heavy, aching breasts, and Quinn groans, closing her eyes and grabbing Rachel's wrists to pull them away. She doesn't need to look down to know that they're leaking. It's one of the  _delightful_  little side effects of pregnancy that they've recently discovered. It had happened with Beth too, of course, but Quinn hadn't needed to worry about anyone else seeing it then.

"Maybe avoid my boobs," she mumbles self-consciously.

Rachel sighs, threading her fingers between Quinn's. "I can if you really want me to, but baby, you know that doesn't bother me." She'd claimed the same the last time they'd made love, and she dips her head down to press a singular kiss to the skin just above Quinn's left nipple to prove her point, even though the colostrum seeping out is even more noticeable now than before. Rachel doesn't shy away from it, lifting her gaze back to Quinn's face. "Your body is getting ready to nourish our baby, and I think it's beautiful."

Quinn exhales shakily, sinking into the loving depths of Rachel's eyes. Saying wonderful things like that is exactly how Rachel always manages to quiet her insecurities. "You can touch them a little," she concedes, feeling a fresh wave of arousal at the sight of Rachel's eager grin, "but there's another part of me that needs your attention more."

Rachel grins wolfishly. "I'm  _so_  good at multitasking."

And then she proceeds to prove to Quinn the validity of her claim by kissing her senseless while skillful hands fan the flames of her desire. One of those hands eventually trails down to the button on Quinn's shorts, deftly popping it open before lowering the zipper to slip her fingers beneath the material, and Quinn tears her mouth away from Rachel with a guttural moan. "Off. Take them off," she commands, planting a palm against the mattress and lifting her hips to allow Rachel to pull her shorts away completely along with her panties.

Rachel rocks back on her heels the moment she discards them, letting her heated gaze roam appreciatively over Quinn's naked body. "You're a goddess," she praises with undisguised desire, gliding reverent hands over Quinn's belly. "An absolute vision."

Quinn chuckles despite her arousal, shaking her head. Her wife is full of shit, but Quinn loves her for her sweet little lies. She knows her belly is huge and her body ungainly, and she's swollen in places she shouldn't be, but Rachel always manages to make her feel both cherished and desired despite those things. "There are better things you could be doing with that mouth of yours right now."

Rachel rolls her eyes, but, "I suppose there are," and she leans forward so that talented mouth of hers can begin a sensual voyage from Quinn's lips to her neck and down across her shoulders while her hands continue to silently worship her body.

When Rachel flattens her tongue over a nipple, it feels like she just tugged on an invisible string directly connected to Quinn's clit. Her hips jerk forward on a cry of delight, and her entire body quivers on a dangerous precipice, but despite how good it feels, Quinn gently tugs Rachel's head away from her skin.

"Isn't that a little gross for you?"

"It really isn't." Rachel's hungry expression turns tender as she caresses Quinn's cheek. "But I won't do it again if it makes you uncomfortable."

Touched by the offer, Quinn takes Rachel's hand in her own and presses a swift kiss to her palm, smiling sweetly. "How are you so wonderful?"

"It's one of my many natural qualities," Rachel answers with a winning smile.

"And so humble," Quinn notes with some amusement.

Rachel's smile goes soft and tender. "And so very in love with you."

"Oh, Rach," Quinn breathes out, heart swelling with love even while her body practically begs for her wife's touch. She rests her forehead against Rachel's. "I love you," she whispers before kissing Rachel with all the emotion she feels.

Rachel rises on her knees, deepening the kiss as she glides her fingers over the curves of Quinn's body. Her hands linger on Quinn's belly before coming to rest on her thighs, and she breaks the kiss. "Scoot back," she instructs, patting Quinn's leg, "and lie down on your side. I've been on the floor too long today, and I need to be completely focused on you and not my aching knees."

Quinn catches her own lip between her teeth when it occurs to her just how hard Rachel had worked today, so she nods her agreement, wanting Rachel to be comfortable. She shuffles away from the edge of the mattress to lie down on the bed, watching Rachel rise from the floor—albeit a little stiffly. "You are gonna get naked, right?" she verifies, tucking her arm under her head as she gazes longingly at her still mostly-clothed wife.

Laughing, Rachel flashes a grin. "If you like."

Quinn nods again. "Yes, please."

Rachel easily unhooks her bra with a seductive smile, letting it slide down her arms to the floor, and Quinn moans in appreciation at the sight of those magnificent breasts finally on full display. Her palm instinctively moves to cup her own, needing some outlet for her growing need. A knowing grin forms on Rachel's lips at the sight, and she slowly moves her hands down to open her jeans, inching down the zipper in frustrating increments until Quinn has no choice but to rub her thighs together in search of relief. Rachel pauses to kick her shoes away before just as slowly working the denim down over her hips with an enticing wiggle.

Heat burns through Quinn at her wife's little show. "Get over here," she demands, crooking a finger.

"As my lady commands," Rachel teases, planting her hands on the mattress so she can crawl onto the bed. Quinn reaches for her eagerly, but only manages to skim a palm over her belly as Rachel stealthily hurdles over her body to settle behind her.

Quinn isn't entirely certain she approves of this position. "I can't see you this way," she pouts, glancing over her shoulder at Rachel. "Or touch you," though she reaches back to do just that, sliding her fingers over the warm, slick skin on Rachel's hip.

"But I can touch you," Rachel counters, caressing a breast with reverence as she nips at Quinn's shoulder.

Quinn shifts impatiently against her, whimpering at the heat blanketing her back. "Then touch me already," she whines, hooking her ankle over Rachel's calf and pushing her leg back as far as she's able. Rachel slips her own thigh forward, letting Quinn's leg drape over hers, and Quinn arches against her with a groan.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" Rachel murmurs between kisses to Quinn's back and shoulder—her hand tracing circles over Quinn's belly while her leg presses up between Quinn's thighs. Moaning, Quinn rocks her hips down in search of more friction, unable to respond with actual words. "How amazing?" Rachel's hand drifts lower, following the curve of Quinn's stomach down, down, down. "I'm so in awe of you, baby." And then she's touching Quinn exactly where she most needs to be touched.

"Oh, God, yes," Quinn gasps in pleasure, abandoning her grip on Rachel to palm her own breast. All of her doubts about her body, all of her insecurities fade into oblivion under Rachel's loving attention. She's been so good to Quinn throughout her pregnancy, in big and little ways, and her words touch Quinn more deeply than any physical touch ever could, making her fall in love again and again—though Rachel's physical touch is fucking potent all on its own.

"I wonder how fast I can make you come," Rachel muses, effortlessly finding the spot that she knows drives Quinn wild, and Quinn cries out, panting as her hips jerk frantically against Rachel's talented fingers. Her body is racing towards completion at lightning speed, and she hazily thinks that Rachel has an unfair advantage with Quinn having been so acutely aroused for the better part of the day.

The pregnancy itself has given Rachel an advantage. It seems like every part of Quinn's body has been hypersensitive for months now, and even the tiniest stimulation can send a tidal wave of sensation crashing through her. It's happening right now. It's embarrassing really, how quickly Quinn comes apart, moaning raunchily as her body spasms into blissful release.

When the tremors finally begin to calm, she collapses limply into Rachel's embrace, trying to catch her breath. Rachel strokes a lock of damp hair away from Quinn's face. "Pretty fast," she comments with a good amount of self-congratulation in her voice.

Quinn makes a weak attempt at slapping the leg closest to her, but it's not like she can deny it. "You don't have to be so smug about it."

Rachel laughs. "I'm just admiring another job well done."

"Oh, you're not done," Quinn warns, turning her head to aim a sideways grin at Rachel. "You're just on a temporary break." She has every intention of reciprocating once she recovers her full motor function. "We'll get back to work in a minute or two," she promises, letting her eyes fall closed as her sated body sinks deeper into Rachel's enticing heat.

"Slave driver," Rachel accuses playfully, hugging Quinn to her.

Quinn can only hum in vague agreement, drifting into a fuzzy cloud of satiated contentment, but she's not so far gone that she doesn't feel Rachel's gentle fingers play over the taut skin of her belly, tracing little hearts and stars while Quinn smiles in sleepy contentment.

"She's kicking," she murmurs, moving Rachel's hand down to the spot where their daughter is trying to get her mother's attention.

Quinn can feel Rachel's smiling lips press against her shoulder as her palm presses more firmly against a dancing foot. "Did we wake you up, little star?" she coos, and the musical lilt of her voice over the endearment is nearly as tangible to Quinn as the touch of her hand.

"She's been awake," Quinn informs her with a soft chuckle.

A thoughtful hum vibrates against Quinn's skin. "Do you think she knows what we were doing?"

Quinn laughs, idly stroking the back of Rachel's hand. "I think she knows one of her mommies just made her other mommy very happy."

"Is that what we're calling it?" Rachel asks, amusement coloring her words.

Quinn glances over her shoulder, smiling softly at her wife. "It's the truth." She waits for Rachel to return her smile before she drops her head back onto the pillow. "And she's too young to know any differently."

Rachel giggles, pressing another soft kiss to her shoulder. "But all of her senses are developed now," she considers quietly, rubbing her thumb back and forth over Quinn's belly. "She can hear everything we're saying and feel everything you're feeling." Quinn can hear Rachel's increasing awareness in every word. "She probably  _does_ know exactly what we were doing."

Quinn shifts in Rachel's embrace, managing to roll over with no little amount of effort. "Are you gonna be all weird about having sex in front of her now?" she asks suspiciously, studying Rachel's faintly mortified expression. "Because we've already been doing it for the last seven months." It's never been a problem for either one of them before, and even if Quinn's libido isn't being quite so insatiable these days, she's really not down with total abstinence anymore.

Rachel's eyebrows furrow stubbornly. "She was asleep all those other times."

Quinn rolls her eyes, grinning. "You know she wasn't."

Rachel shakes her head. "I know no such thing, Quinn. She certainly was sleeping through all the important parts," she insists with willful ignorance. Her lips twitch into a grin and she rubs Quinn's stomach again. "Our little girl is no voyeur."

Quinn laughs, pulling Rachel's arms around her and snuggling into her wife's embrace. "It won't be much longer until she's here," she says after a moment.

Rachel sighs. "I know."

They're sharing the same pillow, faces close together, and it's nearly impossible for Quinn to escape from the fathomless depths of Rachel's eyes. Emotions flash like fireworks, one after the other, and fade to black so quickly that Quinn can barely distinguish one from the next. "Are you scared?" she asks, her voice soft.

"Terrified," Rachel admits with no hesitation, and Quinn really can't help it—her stomach sinks for just a moment. It always does whenever she's forced to remember that Rachel didn't rush into impending motherhood with quite the same enthusiasm as Quinn. Seeming to recognize exactly where Quinn's thoughts have taken her, Rachel offers her a reassuring smile. "But excited…and nervous...and pretty much a mess of every other chaotic emotion you can think of."

Quinn grins crookedly, rolling her eyes. "You and me both."

"Except you have an actual hormonal excuse." Rachel's eyes widen comically almost as soon as she says it, and she quickly attempts to backtrack. "Not that you're hormonal at all."

Quinn chuckles, patting Rachel's hip. "It's okay. I know I am." This pregnancy has been even more of an emotional roller coaster than her first—maybe because her highs have been so much higher, thanks to Rachel.

"It's just," Rachel begins, shaking her head slightly while her hand drifts down between them to rest protectively over Quinn's belly again. "Of all the things I've ever done in my life, _this_ is the most important. I need to get it right."

Quinn knows this. They've talked about it many times before, but it's been awhile since Rachel has seemed quite this serious and subdued. Her drive to be the best parent possible has manifested itself in so many little ways—the books and articles she's read non-stop, the doctor's appointments, the overprotective streak, the nursery and crib—and it's been so (mostly) wonderful for Quinn that it's been easy enough to forget how much uncertainty Rachel still feels about the baby.

There's a heaviness in the air between them now that Quinn feels compelled to lighten, and she places her own hand over Rachel's. "Well, you got the crib set right, so I think you're off to a pretty good start." She's off to a really good start on so many levels, and it still surprises Quinn that Rachel could ever doubt how wonderful she's going to be once their daughter is actually here.

"Babies don't come with instruction manuals."

Quinn pokes Rachel's leg with her foot, grinning. "You mean you haven't pieced one together from the three dozen baby books you've read."

Rachel's lips twitch slightly, but, "I'm serious, Quinn. This is the easy part."

Quinn scoffs at that. "A lot easier for you than for me." She's the one carrying a whole other person around inside of her and suffering through all the havoc it's inflicting on her body.

"Duly noted," Rachel concedes with a faint grin.

Quinn moves her hand up to Rachel's cheek, stroking the soft skin in comfort. "You're still afraid you won't be a good mom." It's not a question. Quinn knows that fear is always lurking beneath the surface, coloring everything that Rachel does.

"I don't think that fear is going away anytime in the next eighteen years," Rachel admits with a melancholy smile, her eyes darting down to where her hand still rests over their daughter.

Quinn traces Rachel's lower lip with her thumb before moving it to her chin and tapping twice to make sure she has Rachel's full attention, letting her touch fall away only when dark eyes return to hers. "I think that's probably normal. It means we want to be the best parents we can be, but there are bound to be moments when we both feel like we could do better." There are so many ways to screw up your kids, even when you have the best of intentions and think you're prepared for anything.

"But you're already such an amazing mom," Rachel assures her. "You're doing everything right."

"So are you," Quinn points out lovingly. "You've been right here with me from the beginning, Rach, making sure our daughter has everything she needs, and I know that's not going to change." Rachel might end up running herself ragged trying to do everything, but the important part is that she'll always be  _trying_. "But you're right," she continues, glancing down at her protruding stomach in silent punctuation, "this  _is_  the easy part." She meets Rachel's eyes with a smile. "We'll figure out the rest together." Exactly the way they've been doing all along.

"Together," Rachel echoes with a tiny smile, and Quinn closes the small distance between them, sliding her mouth over Rachel's in a sweet, tender kiss that serves as a prelude to more.

They both know that there's no magical elixir to guarantee that they'll be perfect mothers—in fact, it's pretty much a guarantee that they  _won't_  be—but as long as their hearts are overflowing with love for each other and their baby girl, Quinn is certain that they really can't go wrong.

She feels like they're  _both_  off to a really good start.

_xx_

As predicted, Quinn spends a good portion of the next morning in the nursery, gazing tearfully at the crib and dresser that stand against the soft green walls—awaiting their daughter's presence. But there's still so much work that needs to be done, so she and Rachel start by placing the little rug they'd found at Babesta on the floor in front of the crib, taking a moment to admire how cute it looks before they finally unpack some of the onesies and blankets and diapers that they've already bought to fill up the dresser drawers with the things they think they'll need most in those first few months.

More trips to the baby store inevitably follow, and they buy bedding and curtains and a yellow pillow in the shape of a cat face that they just can't resist. In no time at all, their nursery transforms completely from the plain white walls and empty room they'd started with into a colorful wonderland for their daughter to inhabit.

Quinn eventually pulls out the quilt that Shelby had given them and drapes it over the rail of the crib, admiring how perfectly it matches their color scheme. A tiny frown mars her lips because she still hasn't added a patch to it, and she knows that she needs to do something about that soon, but even missing the personal touch for their unborn daughter, it's a cherished thread weaving the twisted branches of their family tree closer together.

There are still things that they'll need to take care of in the coming months. They don't have a bassinet or a bathtub or a stroller yet, and Quinn thinks she'd like a rocking chair for the nursery, but it finally feels like they're ready to bring a baby home to their apartment.

It's a good thing too, because June disappears in the blink of an eye, sucked away by busy days of unpacking and painting and decorating, and they're both in desperate need of a break.

So four days into July, Quinn and Rachel find themselves on a small private yacht that Josie had chartered, sailing on the Hudson River with a handful of her and Sarah's closest friends. It's a Tuesday evening, and all of Broadway is dark for the Independence Day celebrations taking place all across the city, so Quinn had eagerly accepted the invitation for a fireworks cruise that Josie had extended. In all the years they've lived in the city, neither she nor Rachel have ever seen the fireworks this way.

Around them, various conversations overlap and mingle, some quiet and others more boisterous. Josie is entertaining two friends from her law firm while Sarah is tucked into a seat at the bow of the boat, chatting with Teresa. Santana is exchanging medical horror stories with Sarah's friend, Erika, who happens to be a nurse, and Rachel is basking in the attention of another of Josie's friends who's a big Broadway fan.

Quinn had been enjoying her talk with Josie's sister, Juliana, who'd come down from Boston to check out the Macy's firework display for a change, but she'd wandered below deck with her boyfriend ten minutes ago, leaving Quinn alone. She's currently leaning against the railing as she gazes out at the city lights reflected on the waves, simply appreciating the gorgeous night and the experience of being on a yacht.

She senses Rachel's approach even before she feels the supportive hand come to rest on her lower back, and she leans into her wife's side with a lazy smile and a soft, "Hey, you."

Rachel looks beautiful tonight (and very patriotic) in a vintage blue dress with white polka dots, accented by red shoes, star-shaped earrings, and a red hair clip keeping her dark hair back in a neat, low ponytail. Quinn's nod to the holiday is slightly more subtle. Her white maternity dress is decorated with tiny blue sailboats, and she'd topped it with a short sleeved red sweater that's entirely aesthetic and not at all practical.

"Are you warm enough?" Rachel asks, letting her half-empty glass of wine dangle over the water as she stands next to Quinn with her arm resting on the rail.

Quinn chuckles quietly. "It was over ninety degrees today, Rach."

"And now it's not," Rachel points out with an arched brow. "I can go get your heavier sweater if you need it." Rachel had, of course, insisted on bringing something warmer for Quinn as well as herself along with an umbrella, just in case it rains. (Not one of the local meteorologists is even predicting a single cloud in the sky until next week.)

The sun had set about fifteen minutes ago, so the temperature  _is_  noticeably cooler with the wind off the water, but it feels so good to Quinn right now. "You worry too much," she gently chastises with a fond smile. "I'm fine," she promises, effectively halting any argument from her overprotective wife. "It's such a beautiful night."

"It is," Rachel agrees, snuggling against Quinn's body, and they take a moment to just stand there, gazing out at the water and the skyline of the city they call home.

"We should do this every year," Quinn muses.

"We'll have the baby next year."

As if Quinn could forget with her belly getting bigger every day. "All the more reason to spring for an uncrowded view of the fireworks."

Rachel fights back laugh. "Need I remind you that you did not, in fact, marry a Boston heiress?"

Quinn doesn't even want to guess how much this evening is costing Josie. Granted, it's not a  _huge_  yacht, but it's big enough to comfortably fit ten people on the top deck, and there's plenty of food and alcohol to keep them all content well into the wee hours of the morning while the captain sails them safely around the wild waterways of Manhattan.

Still, it's fun to tease her wife, so she turns to Rachel with an impish grin. "No, but I did marry a famous Broadway star."

"Which I will be only until next month," Rachel says wistfully.

Quinn's smile turns sympathetic, and she lifts a hand to stroke Rachel's cheek. "You'll always be a star, Rach."

Rachel sighs, turning her face into Quinn's touch. "One who, sadly, cannot yet afford to buy you a yacht."

Quinn giggles, dropping her hand. "I don't expect you to  _buy_  one." Her smile widens. "Just rent it."

"Oh, is  _that_  all," Rachel scoffs, affecting a playful pout.

Laughing, Quinn shakes her head as she drapes her arms over Rachel's shoulders. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I don't need a yacht. I only need you," she vows before leaning in to kiss her wife.

Rachel moans softly against Quinn's mouth, and Quinn takes full advantage of her blissful surrender. Kissing her gorgeous wife on a beautiful summer night with the Manhattan skyline as their backdrop is a scene right out of one of Rachel's many romantic dreams, and Quinn has no problem indulging her tonight. Between them, their unborn daughter softly taps out a reminder that she's right here with them.

The kiss is interrupted too soon by an irritatingly familiar voice. "Hey! Fabrays! Quit making out over there and come save me from the art nerds," Santana demands, apparently having finished her conversation with Erika.

Quinn's lips reluctantly part from Rachel's on a sigh of disappointment.

"You  _love_ these art nerds," Teresa challenges, not sounding the least bit offended.

"Well, one of them anyway," Santana responds, and Quinn glances in her direction just in time to see her practically tug Teresa onto her lap for a lewd kiss.

"Didn't she just yell at us for doing that?" Rachel grumbles.

"It's Santana," Quinn says by way of an answer, rolling her eyes as she watches Teresa laughingly shove Santana away and settle back into her seat next to Sarah, who's rolling her own eyes at the couple.

"Do you want to sit for a while?" Rachel asks with a smile.

"Yeah." There are only about twenty minutes left until the fireworks begin, and there are two prime seats just waiting for them, so they make their way over to join their friends.

The very bow of the yacht is mostly open deck and railing, currently being occupied by a few bodies, but there's a padded bench-seat that curves in front of the helm and looks out over the tip of the bow, and Rachel helps Quinn sit down next to Sarah before claiming a seat for herself on the end of the bench. There's just enough space left for Josie to squeeze in if she decides to join them, though right now she's still deep in a conversation with her other friends.

"About time you rejoined the party," Santana needles, smirking at them as she reaches for the bottle of beer that's sitting on the table in front of the bench. "Though I guess the preggo porn over there was a party all on its own."

It certainly was, though Quinn feels her cheeks heat at the crude description.

"One you very rudely interrupted," Rachel complains good-naturedly before taking a sip of her wine.

"Hey, if you really wanna join the nautical mile club, there's a bedroom below deck," Santana informs them wickedly, wiggling her eyebrows.

"No, there's not," Sarah immediately refutes, but then she glances at Quinn and Rachel with a timid grin. "But there is a lounge with an extra plush sofa."

Santana snorts over her beer. "And did you and Red test that out personally?"

Sarah's cheek pinken noticeably. "No comment."

"Way to go, Michigan," Santana laughingly cheers, lifting her bottle in salute and completely ignoring the well-aimed poke to her side from Teresa at the familiar nickname.

Sarah handles the teasing much better than she used to, but Quinn isn't surprised when she attempts to change the subject by turning to Quinn. "So I heard there's a Teresa Rinaldi original in your nursery. I really need to stop by to see it." Her lips twist into an almost guilty smile. "And I guess the rest of the apartment too now that you're officially moved in all the way."

Quinn nods. "Yeah, you haven't been there since moving day, have you?"

"Sorry," Sarah offers, and there's definitely a guilty look on her face now. "I guess we haven't really talked much since then either. I've just been so busy with work, and well," she trails off with an uncertain shrug. "I mean, you're kind of in the home stretch now." She gestures to Quinn's protruding belly. "Jo and I figured the two of you probably want as much private time as possible before you'll never have any again."

It's certainly not the way Quinn cares to think of it, and she automatically presses a protective hand to her belly, trying not to read too deeply into the way Rachel's body stiffens beside her.

Santana barks out a laugh. "Damn. Talk about blunt."

"I'm sorry," Sarah rushes to apologize again, looking mortified. "That came out sounding so much worse than I intended. I just meant, you know, these are your last few baby-free months," she continues clumsily, flailing her hand in the direction of Quinn's stomach again. "Not that you're technically baby-free  _now_ , because there's definitely a baby…just…not out here."

"Wow," Santana interjects, still laughing as she stares at Sarah with undisguised amusement. "You are  _really_ awkward about this baby thing, aren't you?"

Teresa elbows her in the side. "Santana, be nice," she warns, sounding uncommonly serious about the threat.

Sarah sighs in defeat, nervously rubbing her hands over her denim-covered thighs. "It's no secret that babies aren't really my thing," she admits with a shrug, offering them a self-deprecating smile, and Quinn certainly recalls her general aversion to children from their brief relationship. "But they're obviously your thing, and I really am happy for you guys even if I can't seem to express it without putting my foot in my mouth."

Quinn offers Sarah a sympathetic smile. "I think we can forgive you," she allows, glancing at Rachel as she reaches out to take her hand. "Can't we?"

A rueful grin twists Rachel's lips, and she nods. "Heaven knows, I haven't always phrased things in the most tactful way either."

The (under)statement earns a round of laughter from their friends, and even Quinn can't contain her giggle.

"You don't say," Santana snarks.

Rachel huffs but otherwise ignores the barb, turning her attention back to Sarah instead. "And you're not wrong," she says thoughtfully, glancing at Quinn. "After next month, Quinn and I will never truly be alone again."

It's a sobering thought, but so very far from an unwelcome one, and Quinn squeezes her wife's hand and flashes her a brilliant smile. "We'll be a family of three," she declares tenderly.

"You two are nauseating," Santana criticizes, but there's a fond smile on her lips, and she lifts her bottle again, this time in their direction. "Here's to your little timesuck."

Teresa shoves her shoulder, laughing. "Just see if they make you godmother now."

Santana frowns. "Who else are they gonna pick? Hummel?"

"You know I'm Jewish," Rachel reminds her flatly. "We don't actually do godparents."

Quinn bites back her laughter. Rachel knows very well that Quinn wants their daughter to have godparents, and she doesn't actually have a problem observing that particular Christian tradition, though she sees it as more of an honorary title than a religious one in their case. In fact, Rachel's pick for godparent does happen to be Kurt, and he's still an atheist. Quinn is just happy she's agreeing to it at all—but Santana doesn't know that.

Santana's brows pinch with annoyance. "Quinn. Are you gonna let your wife do me dirty like that?"

Quinn does laugh then, shaking her head. "It's cute how you think I'd actually trust you with my child regardless of Rachel's religious objections."

Truthfully, Santana is at the top of Quinn's very short list—primarily because she finally seems (mostly) settled down—but Santana doesn't know that either, so she slumps back in her seat with an offended pout. "I'm never taking you shopping again."

"I think I'll live," Quinn drawls, smirking as she shares a conspiratorial glance with Rachel.

Josie chooses that moment to come bounding over to them with a grin on her face and a glass of wine in her hand. "What am I missing?" she asks eagerly, sliding an arm behind Sarah's shoulders as she sinks down into the small space next to her.

"The obliteration of Santana's ego," Sarah informs her with a grin as she wraps her arms around her wife's waist, and Santana flips her off dejectedly while everyone else laughs.

"Dammit," Josie swears, glancing around at her friends in mock disappointment. "Who wants to recap for me?"

"You all suck," Santana grouches, earning even more laughter from their little group, but then Teresa is pulling her close and whispering into her ear, and Santana's lips twitch back into a begrudging smile.

"The teasing is just a sign of our affection," Rachel sing-songs, parroting the words that Santana has uttered to all of them on multiple occasions.

"It's just how we roll," Quinn adds in her best Santana impression.

"As long as you roll your pregnant ass around to making me godmother, we'll be good," Santana declares, pointing her beer bottle at them warningly. "I'm not going through all this baby stuff for nothing."

" _Who's_  going through the baby stuff?" Quinn laughingly scoffs, rubbing her belly in punctuation.

She doesn't miss the odd look that Santana and Rachel exchange, and she frowns, wondering what that's about, but then Santana smirks and says, "Well…shortstack here did kinda drag us all kicking and screaming into Quinnie-sitting duty, so I'd say we're all invested in your munchkin." She tilts her head toward Sarah. "Even Miss Bad-At-Babies over there."

Quinn bristles at the reminder of those  _surprise_  visits. "You could have just told her  _no_ ," she points out, moving her accusatory gaze to each of them in turn. It still annoys her that Rachel had somehow convinced all of their friends to check in on her so often during their move. God—even now, they all keep calling her every few nights while Rachel is at the theatre.

Teresa laughs. "No, we really couldn't."

"Have you even met your wife?" Josie chimes in.

"The word  _no_ is not in her vocabulary," Sarah agrees evenly.

"But every other fucking word known to mankind is," Santana adds, rolling her eyes. "We had to make her shut up somehow."

"We do have very intelligent friends, Quinn," Rachel comments, looking entirely too smug as she takes a sip of her wine.

Quinn sighs in resignation, knowing she's outnumbered, and that's the end of that conversation.

In fact, there's not much more conversation after that at all thanks to the firework display that begins right on schedule. The yacht is anchored in a fairly prime viewing spot, with the fireworks set to light up the night over the city skyline. Everyone falls silent as the patriotic soundtrack blasts over the speakers of the yacht, and Quinn leans into Rachel's side as she gazes up at the brilliant colors exploding in the sky. Inside of her, their daughter kicks in time with the thunderous cacophony above them, and Quinn pulls Rachel's hand down to rest over her belly so she can feel it too.

She's sure that the light shining in Rachel's eyes in that moment has nothing to do with the fireworks.


	5. Trying To Prove

Rachel finds herself with a growing sense of imminent upheaval as the calendar flips to July. There are less than two months to go until her life is going to be irreversibly changed, and she's as terrified as she is excited. But not all of her frazzled nerves are centered on the baby. She only has six weeks until she is, for all intents and purposes, unemployed once again. Of course, she's been padding their nest egg as much as possible, barring the extra expenditures to furnish their nursery and the rest of the apartment, and Quinn is due to receive a (really freaking nice) payment for the film adaptation of her first book once it actually gets the greenlight for production, but Rachel can't seem to shake the worry that their savings will start running out and she won't be able to find another job. And okay—maybe she's worried  _slightly_  less about the money than the job right now, but she's never done particularly well without  _some_ new professional endeavor to focus on, and who's to say that the name Rachel Berry won't be forgotten completely during her extended sabbatical from the stage?

She feels mildly nauseous just thinking about the possibility.

 _Confessions_  is still a bonafide Broadway smash, and Rachel is about to step away and allow another actress to usurp her role. Said actress has already started rehearsals with the rest of the cast. Rachel doesn't begrudge her (much) of course—she's a perfectly lovely, talented young woman—but it's still slightly painful for Rachel to accept that she's about to be replaced, regardless of the fact that it's her own choice to leave.

Becoming a mother is much more important.

For the most part, she's feeling more prepared for certain aspects of it. Her kitchen skills have improved significantly in the last six months—she barely even burns anything anymore—which means she's fully capable of keeping their daughter fed. Quinn might grumble about her protective streak, but there have been no major health scares or heart-stopping falls under Rachel's watch, which bodes well for her ability to keep their daughter similarly safe. And she's damn proud of the way the nursery turned out, so painting and furniture assembling are officially in her skill set, which means she can indulge any urges their daughter may have to redecorate in the future.

Quinn keeps assuring her that they'll figure out the rest together, and Rachel has no choice but to believe her.

The one thing that they're not figuring out together is the baby shower. They've created registries in a dozen baby stores that they've mentioned to their friends and family, and they've talked abstractly about inviting everyone over one night closer to the end of July and calling it a shower, but they haven't planned anything formal or sent out any invitations yet.

As far as Quinn is aware, it's still completely up in the air.

Rachel knows better.

She's been marginally looped in on the one being planned by Judy and Santana for the second weekend in July. Rachel is admittedly a little leery of whatever those two have managed to come up with since they're pretty much as polar opposite as two people can be, but Judy had been adamant about arranging a  _surprise_  shower for them, so she'd gotten in touch with Santana to be her eyes and ears in the city. Santana, of course, had immediately spilled the beans to Rachel because she'd needed her to make herself available on a Saturday to accommodate everyone else's schedules. Rachel had tried to dissuade her from the  _surprise_  part of it all, thinking it would be much easier just to tell Quinn what they're planning, but—

"Don't you worry your prominent nose about it," Santana had assured her. "Me and Judes have got this. Q's gonna love the party and especially the baby bling. All you have to do is show up. Oh…and make sure your baby crazy wife doesn't go planning any shindigs of her own."

Rachel had found herself agreeing, mostly because she'll be able to yell at Santana if it all goes horribly wrong. And it might.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" Quinn asks her on the day before the baby shower with a suspicious frown on her lips and an arm draped protectively over her belly.

"Of course not," Rachel answers too quickly, eyes wide. "Why would you ask me that?"

Quinn only looks more suspicious. "Because you're acting weird...even for  _you_ ," she accuses, frown deepening. "You voluntarily cleaned the entire apartment before your show yesterday, and you've gotten two phone calls this morning and immediately walked into the guest room to take them."

"I told you it was Evelyn," Rachel lies, silently cursing both Santana and Judy for their horrible timing. She'd been doing reasonably well keeping the baby shower a secret from Quinn until those two had each decided to call her with last minute questions and instructions for tomorrow. Thank God she'd forgotten to take her phone off vibrate after her show last night, otherwise their ringtones would have really gotten her in trouble. Do they not realize that she can't talk freely with Quinn in the same apartment? Rachel is so much better at keeping secrets when they only involve avoiding a subject and not outright lying to her wife.

"Two times in less than three hours?" Quinn questions skeptically, crossing her arms. "And what  _exactly_  does she keep calling you about that you won't discuss in front of me?" Before Rachel can even begin to invent an excuse, Quinn gasps, eyes widening as she reaches for Rachel's hand. "Is she dropping you as a client?" she asks worriedly. "Is that what you're afraid to tell me?"

Well, _that_ would certainly be a plausible cover for Rachel's secretive behavior, but, "No, she's still my agent," she quickly assures Quinn, squeezing her hand. Of course, there's always the possibility that Evelyn will decide to drop her during her sabbatical—she wasn't exactly supportive of Rachel's decision to take an extended break from acting—but she's not mentioning that to Quinn right now. Instead, she tells her a variation of the truth in the hope that it will make her lie more convincing. "She just really wants me to audition for the upcoming  _Once_  revival despite my adamant refusal to commit to another show right now." And in fact, Evelyn actually had texted her about that revival a few weeks ago in an attempt to persuade Rachel to cut her maternity leave short.

Guilt-tinted hazel eyes study Rachel while Quinn worries the corner of her lip. "Do you," she hesitates, taking a careful breath, "do you want to do the show? Is that why you don't want to talk to her in front of me? Because the baby and I are the reason you have to say  _no_."

"Oh, baby,  _no_ ," Rachel rushes to deny as she cups Quinn's shoulder, damning this surprise shower all over again for making her upset her wife. " _I'm_  the reason I'm saying  _no_." Although, to be completely honest, if it weren't for the baby, she'd so be chasing after the role of Girl with unabashed determination, assuming that she wouldn't have chosen to extend her contract with  _Confessions_ , but, "I want to be home with you and our daughter." She curves a palm over Quinn's belly and smiles. "I just didn't want to subject you and our little star to my strongly worded rebukes to Evelyn."

Quinn doesn't look entirely convinced. " _Once_  is a really good show."

Rachel shrugs, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Eh. They don't even end up together. You know I prefer happy endings."

A tiny smile curls on Quinn's lips, and she slides a hand into Rachel's hair. "You so want to do that show, but I love you for putting our family first."

Rachel beams. "Always," she vows, urging her wife closer so she can kiss her accordingly. "I love you, baby," she murmurs against Quinn's lips, meaning it with every fiber of her being—but also incredibly proud to have successfully diverted Quinn from her suspicions.

When she eventually leaves for her show, she's hopeful that tomorrow will go off without a hitch and that Quinn will be pleasantly surprised and not completely pissed that she's been kept out of the loop. It's a little hard to predict how that particular cookie is going to crumble with Quinn at any given moment. She really doesn't like it when people keep things from her.

Rachel somehow manages to get through Friday night and Saturday morning without arousing Quinn's suspicions again. Her understudy is performing both shows on Saturday, but as far as Quinn is aware, Rachel is heading to her matinee earlier than usual for a nonexistent meeting with Bernie about the schedule for her final month of shows. In fact, Rachel is actually off to the airport courtesy of a car service to pick up Judy Fabray. Meanwhile, Santana has been tasked with getting Quinn to the shower under the guise of lunch and the latest  _Wonder Woman_  movie.

Actually, Quinn probably  _will_  be a little pissed about missing the movie. She's got a fangirl crush on Gal Gadot.

Rachel texts Judy when they arrive at LaGuardia, and she directs the driver to the wait area parking until she hears from her mother-in-law. It takes about ten minutes until Judy texts back to tell them that her plane has landed and another thirteen until she lets Rachel know that she's at the baggage claim in Terminal B, so Rachel tells the driver to head to arrivals while she lets Judy know to look for a black Lincoln sedan.

She spots Judy easily enough, jumping out of the car the moment it stops and scurrying to greet her with a welcoming smile. Judy meets her with a polite, "Hello, Rachel, dear," and a fleeting one-armed hug before she easily passes her large suitcase along to Rachel, who in turn passes it to the driver who had followed her out of the car and opened the trunk. Rachel is happy that Judy had decided to travel relatively light this time—if one considers a full-sized suitcase for a weekend trip to be light.

Judy holds onto a pink gift bag that's decorated with colorful letters and baby animals as she gets into the car, and once Rachel slides in beside her, they're on their way to Santana's apartment. Judy, of course, immediately asks how Quinn is doing, and Rachel assures her that she's doing well, leaving out any detailed mention of the occasional emotional outbursts, back aches, swollen ankles, and various other pregnancy maladies. The relationship between Rachel and Judy is pleasant enough these days, but no one would describe them as particularly tight knit, and they're certainly not prone to excessive chitchat just because they feel like it. Conversations with Judy are easiest when they center on Quinn.

When they arrive at Santana's building, Rachel takes Judy's suitcase from the driver and gives him a nice tip. She tugs the bag behind her as they enter the lobby, waving to the doorman. The plan is for her and Quinn to bring Judy and her suitcase back to their apartment after the shower, and Rachel is very much hoping that Quinn will be okay with the unexpected visitor. She'd taken care to clean the apartment on Thursday for just that purpose.

"Hi. You're right on time," Teresa tells them when she opens the door, welcoming them inside. "It's nice to see you again, Mrs. Fabray."

They'd met briefly when Judy had visited in April, so it's not surprising that she invites Teresa to, "Please call me Judy."

Teresa nods before gesturing to the suitcase in Rachel's hand. "Let me just put that in my studio and then we can get going."

"Going?" Rachel asks in confusion, even as she reflexively hands Judy's bag to Teresa as instructed. It's only then that she actually glances around the apartment in earnest and notices the distinct lack of baby shower décor—and guests, not to mention Santana. "I thought we were having the shower here."

Judy lays a hand on Rachel's arm, offering her a kind smile. "I insisted that we keep something about this day as a surprise for you too, though I suppose I do understand why Santana felt it necessary to tell you about it." The disapproving shake of her head tells Rachel that, while Judy may understand, she still doesn't like it. "But this is your baby shower as well, Rachel, and I wanted to make it special for you too."

Rachel blinks, touched by her mother-in-law's acceptance of her. "Thank you, Judy."

Judy squeezes her arm in silent acknowledgment while Teresa disappears to tuck away the suitcase for safekeeping. When she comes back, she informs them that, "Santana left about thirty minutes ago to set everything up, and she took the gifts with her. She's planning to pick up Quinn at eleven-thirty." She tugs her phone out of her pocket and glances at the time. "We don't have very far to go, but if you need to use the bathroom, now's the time."

As it turns out, since Santana had actually been the one to reserve the car service for Rachel and Judy, the black Lincoln is still sitting in front of the building with its flashers on, waiting to drive the three of them to their final destination. Teresa hadn't been exaggerating. The shower location is right there in the Upper West Side, and it takes them less than ten minutes to arrive. Rachel's eyes widen in delight when she sees where they are, and frankly, she's stunned that Santana had played any part in choosing this place.

They step out of the car in front of a small shop with a black iron railing that's lined with fairy lights. The railing curves along four steps that lead down from the sidewalk to a colorfully decorated door beneath a pink and purple awning that proclaims the shop to be  _Alice's Tea Cup_. The place is already  _perfect_ just from the name alone.

"It's a tea house," she realizes, placing a hand over her heart in giddy delight. "Quinn is going to love this."

"Do you really think so?" Judy asks nervously. "I found it online and thought it might be a nice place to have the shower." And it makes so much more sense that this was Judy's idea. "Quinnie and I used to do afternoon teas when she was a little girl." The wistful expression on her face speaks of happier memories floating amidst a sea of regrets. "It feels like lifetime ago."

"It's a really good choice," Rachel confirms, hoping to alleviate any concern that Judy might have. She can't imagine that Quinn won't be immediately enamored with this little shop for a number of reasons.

As soon as they enter, they're overwhelmed by the enticing scents of tea and cinnamon and sugar. There's a display case full of pastries and scones in the front of the shop and shelves overflowing with so many different kinds of teas that Rachel imagines it might very well take months to sample them all.

Teresa leads them through the shop to the back where the actual tearoom is located, and nearly all of the tables are filled with patrons who are happily sipping tea and enjoying those pasties from out front. The walls are decorated with quotes and artwork from  _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ , and Rachel thinks again how enthralled Quinn will be with this whole place. She can't believe she hadn't even known it existed.

Her eyes continue to scan the walls while Teresa gives the hostess Santana's name, and then they're led through the main dining room and into a smaller room in the back. It's separated from the main room by glass lancet double doors that sit in a square doorway, making them more stylish than functional since they leave three v-shaped gaps at the top when they're closed, but Rachel supposes they do help dampen the noise from the main room just enough to give the illusion of some privacy. The room itself is painted a rich shade of red—Teresa informs them that it's called the Raspberry Room—and there are currently pink streamers hung from the ceiling, a sign proclaiming  _It's a Girl!_  tacked to the wall, and a stack of colorfully wrapped gifts piled in the corner.

Oh—and a roomful of people who shout, "Happy baby!" at Rachel the moment she steps inside.

She laughs, loudly and happily, immediately engulfed in a hug from her dad followed by another from her daddy, and her eyes drift around the room, taking in the faces of her friends and family who'd come to share this day with them.

Shelby is sitting at a table, watching her with a cautious smile while Beth is already up and making her way towards Rachel for a hug of her own that Rachel is only too happy to return.

She sees her publicist (and friend), Cheryl, mixed in with Josie and Sarah, Jessica, Aileen, and, of course, Kurt and Harry. These are the people who are most present in their lives, and all-in-all, she'd say that Santana and Judy have done a fairly good job with the planning, but she supposes they'll find out for certain when Quinn finally arrives.

Rachel still has a little time to chat with everyone before Santana is due to deliver her wife to them, so she thanks them all for coming, discovering that there were a few invitees who'd needed to send their regrets. Mercedes hadn't been able to get away from her commitments in Los Angeles but had promised to send a gift. Aileen tells her that Peter has the matinee performance of his play this afternoon, which isn't unexpected—and really, Rachel can imagine that he'd probably jumped at the excuse to get out of what he most certainly views as a lady thing. Rachel's costar, Heather, with whom she's developed a very good rapport is, of course, performing today as well. Evelyn apparently had some other commitment today, but Rachel suspects that she either didn't care to come at all or wisely figured that Quinn would prefer her not to be here since she's not exactly Quinn's favorite person.

Soon enough, Teresa gets a text from Santana that they're two blocks away, so everyone quiets down and assumes their positions, ready to surprise Quinn. "Please don't be too vigorous with your surprises," Rachel implores them all, nervously twisting her rings around her finger. "Remember that Quinn is eight months pregnant. I don't want to scare her into an early labor."

She's not exactly reassured by their laughter.

It's not long before they can see Quinn and Santana approaching through the main dining room. Quinn is grinning from ear-to-ear as her eyes dart around to take in everything around her, and Rachel can tell that she's too distracted by the whimsical tea room and the fact that Santana had actually brought her here to notice the familiar faces behind the glass doors until she's actually stepping into the Raspberry Room.

The enthusiastic shouts of, "Surprise!" have Quinn's hands flying to her mouth and her belly in tandem, and Rachel is right there to place a steadying hand on her shoulder.

"Quinn, baby?"

Confused hazel eyes immediately lock onto her, and Quinn drops her hand from her lips, eyebrows furrowing as she points an accusatory finger at Rachel. "You're supposed to be at the theatre."

"That's what you focus on?" Santana huffs, crossing her arms. "Judes and I go through all the trouble of putting this thing together for you, and you're worried about your wife missing a show."

It's only then that Quinn really looks at the other people in the room and notices her mother. "Oh, my God. Mom?" she gasps with a shocked smile on her face as she opens her arms and moves to give Judy a hug. "You're here!"

Judy returns the embrace with a warm smile of her own. "I flew in this morning. Oh, Quinnie. It's so good to see you." She pulls back, laying her hands on the sides of Quinn's belly as her gaze drops down. "Look at you. You're positively blooming."

Rachel internally cringes, bracing for Quinn's reaction. There's no denying that she's gotten bigger since Judy's last visit more than two months ago, and Rachel is grateful that Judy hadn't come out and phrased it exactly that way, but Quinn's expanding waistline is still a very touchy subject. Rachel is reasonably certain that Quinn won't actually snap at her mother for the faux pas—in  _public_  anyway.

What Quinn does is huff out a breath, twisting her lips into a sardonic smile. "That's one way to put it."

Judy pats her cheek. "You look lovely, dear. You're truly radiant."

The compliment seems to appease Quinn, and her smile shines with delight once again while her eyes sweep around to all of their friends. "I can't believe you planned a baby shower and didn't tell me." Her gaze slides back to Rachel, and she points at her again with realization in her eyes. "Those phone calls weren't from Evelyn."

"They were not," Rachel confesses with a grin. She's still inordinately pleased with herself for not inadvertently letting the proverbial cat out of the bag.

"You knew," she accuses, poking Rachel's shoulder playfully. "You brat."

"I only knew that it was happening and when, not where or who was coming," Rachel defends.

"I wanted it to be a surprise for you both," Judy says again for Quinn's sake, "but Santana didn't seem to think we could make that happen with Rachel's unusual schedule."

"Your matinees suck ass for this stuff," Santana complains to Rachel, "but I gotta say, I'm pretty impressed you managed to keep from blabbing to your wife."

"We  _will_  be having words about that later," Quinn warns Rachel, deadly serious, before a grin sneaks onto her lips. "But thank you."

Rachel shakes her head, warmed by the happiness she sees in Quinn's eyes. "This was all Santana and Judy."

So Quinn thanks them both in turn, giving her mother another hug before wrangling Santana into one with a, "Come here and accept my gratitude like the godmother wannabe you are, Lopez."

"I better have that title freakin' locked up after this," she warns, hugging Quinn quickly before just as quickly pushing her away, clearly embarrassed to be doing this in public. "Okay. Enough with the sappy shit. Let's get this party started."

Just as Rachel had done, Quinn takes a few moments to greet everyone and thank them for coming. When she gets to Beth, her eyes sparkle with unshed tears, and Rachel can only guess that she's remembering how there'd been no reason for anyone to throw her a baby shower thirteen years ago even if someone had cared enough to try, because she hadn't been able to keep Beth.

"I'm so happy you're here," Quinn whispers into dark blonde hair as she hugs her firstborn daughter.

"It's, like, baby's first party," Beth observes with a grin, pulling back to rub Quinn's belly.

Quinn laughs, nodding. "I guess it kind of is."

Beth moves her hand away, looking at Quinn with a curious expression. "So are we still just calling her  _baby_ , or does my sister niece finally have a name?"

"Beth!" Shelby scolds, looking almost as horrified as Quinn does by the description. Around them, just about everyone else is trying valiantly not to laugh, and Rachel is caught somewhere between amusement and sympathy for her wife. Their unique familial connections have never been quite as troubling to Rachel.

"Can we please not call her that?" Quinn begs with a slightly pained expression. It's the same one she wears whenever she's forced to think too deeply about Beth's unique relationship to the both of them.

"But that's what she is," Beth responds with seeming innocence, but the tiny smirk on her lips tells Rachel that she knows exactly what she's doing. It's moments like this when she's viscerally reminded that this girl is very much the biological progeny of Quinn and Noah Puckerman.

Santana loses the battle with her laughter, pointing at Beth. "I like you, kid."

Quinn turns to her with a scowl. "Don't encourage her, Santana."

"To answer your question, Beth," Rachel intervenes, intending to prevent her wife from being teased any further on this particular subject, "Quinn and I are still in negotiations at present."

"In other words,  _no_ ," Santana interprets, rolling her eyes. "They have no clue what they're naming the munchkin yet."

"We have a list of possibilities," Rachel defends before turning back to Beth with a smile. "We simply have yet to narrow it down to the perfect name."

Beth sighs. "So I guess it's still just  _baby_."

"Or  _munchkin_ ," Santana offers, winking at Beth.

"Santana," Quinn warns again before smiling at Beth. "The baby will have a proper name the moment she's born."

They just don't know what it will be yet.

With all the  _hellos_  said, Quinn settles next to Rachel at the center table along with Judy and Santana. Teresa sits at the table closest to Santana, along with Sarah, Josie, and Jessica (and Rachel might be a tad bit concerned about the potential topics of conversation that could arise between Teresa and Jessica) while Kurt and Harry sit with Aileen and Cheryl, leaving Rachel's dads to sit with Shelby and Beth.

A server comes in with a cart full of tea pots and pastries soon after they take their seats. Santana had chosen the Mad Hatter service for the shower, which includes unlimited tea—decaffeinated for Quinn—a choice of two sandwiches (and by some miracle, Santana had actually requested the vegetarian option), three scones with preserves, assorted miniature cookies,  _and_  cake. It's far too much food, but it all looks incredibly delicious, and Quinn is clearly tickled by the whole experience.

Of course, it's a baby shower first and foremost, so Santana grins wickedly over her cup of tea and informs them all, "It's time for the shower games."

Quinn instantly levels her unamused gaze on their friend. "I swear to God, Santana, if one of those games involves guessing how big my belly is, your potential godmothership will be permanently revoked."

"Aw, come on," Santana protests irritably. "That's a classic. I've got the string and everything."

Quinn glares at her. "No."

Santana points across the table. "It was Judy's idea."

Quinn turns pained eyes to her mother. "Mom?" she whines, clearly betrayed.

Judy shrugs. "I really don't see the harm, Quinnie."

Quinn slumps in her seat, pouting down at her scone. "Fine," she finally surrenders, lifting her eyes to stare down everyone in the room. "But if anyone cuts an elephant-sized string, I will be very, very upset."

Rachel leans over to kiss her cheek, whispering, "It's just a silly game, baby. Your body is perfect." Quinn turns to look at her with a tiny smile, quickly pecking Rachel's lips in reward.

When Santana offers Rachel the string and scissors, Rachel politely holds up a hand to refuse. "Pass."

"What's the matter, Streisand? Afraid to tick off your wife?" Santana taunts playfully.

Rachel glances at Quinn to see her eyebrow inch up as she gazes back at Rachel with lips set in challenge. Rachel knows better than to answer that question directly, so instead she straightens in her seat and haughtily flips her hair from her shoulders as she meets Santana's amused eyes again. "I'm merely ensuring that the game remains fair, Santana. I would have a distinct advantage, after all."

Santana laughs wickedly. "Yeah, I guess you would. I mean, you are intimately acquainted with all of Lucy-Q's curves."

Laughter fills the room, and Quinn blushes furiously while her mother looks incredibly uncomfortable at the reminder that her daughter and Rachel do, in fact, have sex. Perhaps Rachel should be a touch more embarrassed to discuss such things in front of Judy, but frankly, she's not the least bit ashamed that she and Quinn enjoy a very healthy sex life.

It's no surprise that she's the one tasked with actually measuring all of those strings against Quinn's belly. Whether it's in deference to their intimate relationship or a tactic to save everyone else from Quinn's wrath should any of the strings wrap around her more than once, Rachel can't quite be certain, but Quinn bears the scrutiny of standing there on display with surprising fortitude. Somehow, Kurt manages to cut the string that, save for a few scant centimeters to the plus side, is almost perfect, and he gleefully collects his prize—a fifty-dollar gift card to Saks Fifth Avenue.

"Looks like Kurt knows your wife's curves even better than you do," Santana cackles.

Rachel flushes, suddenly relieved that she'd declined to participate in the face of what would have been almost certain defeat. "How did you  _do_  that?" she asks Kurt, perplexed.

"Please, honey. I design clothes for a living," Kurt explains with a wave of his hand. "I can guess your measurements on sight."

"Then why do you always make me come in for fittings?" Rachel wants to know.

Kurt looks momentarily affronted. "Because I do not  _guess_  when it comes to fashion, Rachel. You are not walking any carpets under my watch with your seams ready to burst because you decided to have that extra pastry." He points accusingly at her plate, and Rachel pushes it away with a frown.

Quinn pats her hand soothingly, leaning close to say, "I like you with some curves." Rachel is intimately aware of that fact, and it makes her smile once again. The feeling is very much mutual.

"So, who's up for a round of pin the baby on the belly?" Santana asks with an evil grin, holding up a little laminated cut out of a crying baby dangling from a ribbon of Velcro.

Quinn's smile disappears. "That had better be a joke."

Santana laughs, tossing the cut-out back onto the table. "You're so predictable, Q. But since you and the missus haven't managed to name your kidlet yet, we're gonna help you out while you start on the presents." She picks up a small stack of papers and begins to pass them around to the other tables. "Whoever comes up with the most baby girl names using only the letters in Lucy Quinn Fabray and Rachel Barbra Berry wins the prize." She shoots a warning gaze at Rachel and Quinn. "And before you two blow a gasket about the Lucy and the Berry of it all, we're using those because, frankly, your names suck for this and we need all the letters we can get, even if Berry's entire name is basically the same three letters over and over again."

Quinn giggles, and when Rachel frowns at her, she shrugs. "Your name does have a lot of R's and B's, sweetie."

"Says the woman with a Q."

Quinn laughs. "We  _do_  have bad names for this game. I'm kind of curious to see what everyone comes up with."

Rachel rolls her eyes. "If I know Santana, I can already guess what one of them will be."

Santana leans over with a smirk on her face. "Oh, I think everyone in this room is writing down  _Cherry_."

It's a name that they will never, ever use.

In fact, Santana doesn't actually write down many names on her own sheet of paper because she and Judy put themselves in charge of the gifts. There are a number of larger boxes and a few large bags, and Rachel wonders how many items on their registry they'll be able to check off after today.

Rachel helps Quinn stand from her chair as they begin, and the very first gift that Judy presents to them is the bag that she'd carried with her from the airport. "This is actually from your sister," she announces, surprising Quinn and Rachel both. Rachel had assumed that had been Judy's gift. "She sends her regrets. TJ has a baseball tournament this weekend and she couldn't get away."

Quinn's lips purse, as if she doesn't quite believe that excuse, but she nods her acceptance anyway, reading the card first. It's fairly generic in and of itself, but Rachel can see that Frannie took the time to write out,  _Lucy, I hope my niece will love her gift as much you loved the originals,_ before simply signing her name.

Quinn reaches into the bag to pull out a series of colorful books, and her cautious expression morphs into one of instant delight. "BabyLit," she says with a chuckle, showing the first book to Rachel. It's a baby book version of  _Emma_ , and Rachel finds herself grinning when she takes it from Quinn, quickly flipping through the pages. It's so very  _Quinn_  that Rachel has a little trouble believing that Francine Fabray had actually thought of it. The rest of the books are similar in style, retelling all of Quinn's favorite classic novels in baby-friendly language with colorful pictures— _Pride & Prejudice, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Peter Pan_ are all here and more.

"This is really wonderful," Rachel murmurs, noticing how Quinn's eyes shine with pleasure.

"It is," she agrees softly. "Frannie actually remembered all of my favorites."

Rachel gazes back down at the book in her hand with a tender smile. "I can picture you reading these to our daughter." She can so clearly imagine Quinn and a tiny blonde toddler (because she's still blonde in Rachel's imagination) curled up on the sofa with Oliver at their feet while Quinn introduces their little star to all of mommy's favorite stories.

Quinn's eyes shimmer with unshed tears, and she leans over to brush a kiss over Rachel's lips.

"Hey, now. None of that," Santana chastises, clapping her hands together. "You've got more presents to open, and we've only got this room for another hour."

Laughing, they turn their attention back to the gifts, methodically opening them one at a time and thanking each of their guests in turn.

There's a baby bathtub from Jessica, a front sling baby carrier from Aileen, and a video baby monitor from Cheryl.

Rachel's dads give them an activity gym and a convertible car seat. "We realize that you don't own a car," Leroy acknowledges with a grin when they open it, "but your daddy and I do, and who knows? You might decide to invest in one someday. In any case, you'll need a car seat to bring our grandbaby home from the hospital. You are not taking that precious little angel on public transportation."

They absolutely are not, and Rachel has already been researching baby-friendly car services, but having a car seat of their own will certainly make it much easier to take their daughter out for trips that aren't within walking distance. The one her dads have bought them can be adjusted to grow with their daughter, and her dad is right. They may, in fact, discover that they'll need a car once they have a child, despite the headache of actually parking it anywhere in the city.

Kurt gifts them with a stylish basket that's veritably overflowing with rattles, stroller toys, pacifiers and bibs. He also promises, "All the baby couture your daughter will ever need to keep her the best dressed baby in the city."

"Thank God someone will," Santana jokes. "We can't trust these two to do it."

Harry had focused his gift more on Quinn with a gift basket of his own that's filled with natural, baby-friendly lotions and creams along with some herbal teas meant to help ease her through both the end of her pregnancy and the postpartum period, and Quinn thanks him for being so thoughtful.

As it turns out, Judy had actually purchased her gift online, having it shipped to Santana and Teresa's apartment to avoid having to transport it on the plane. It's a six-in-one high chair that can be adjusted for height and feeding position and can also be converted to a booster seat for a toddler.

"We'll get a lot of use out of this," Quinn comments with a grateful smile before giving her mother a hug.

Beth gives an adorable hooded bath towel with a bunny face and ears on the hood and matching wash clothes. "I bought them with my own money," she announces proudly, and Rachel knows that Quinn will cherish them more than the most expensive item they get.

Shelby's gift of a rocking bassinet with a canopy and musical mobile is much nicer than the smaller one that she and Quinn had been eyeing. It's sturdy but still portable, complete with locking wheels, and they can keep it their bedroom so their daughter will be able to sleep near them in those first few months. Rachel thanks her mother with a hug that lasts just a little bit longer than their usual hugs.

Josie and Sarah give them a stroller—a really expensive one with both a bassinet carriage and adjustable toddler seat to be switched out as needed.

"It's too much," Quinn tells them, looking noticeably stunned as she eyes the picture on the box. The stroller on their registry had been much less elaborate (and undoubtedly much less expensive).

Josie waves her hand dismissively. "It's a gift. You don't want to go with the beater model when it comes to your daughter's wheels," she adds with a grin, and as if the stroller wasn't enough, they'd also thrown in a stroller organizer to attach to the handlebar.

"Well, no one's topping that," Santana mutters, fully aware that the only two gifts left are the ones from her and Teresa, and they're significantly smaller than all the others.

"It's not a competition, Santana," Rachel reassures her. "I think I can speak for Quinn when I say that we've loved everything."

Quinn's teary nod is affirmation of that. "You've all been so generous."

"Yeah, so here," Santana mumbles, shoving the smallest box into Rachel's waiting hands. It's neatly wrapped in pink paper that's covered with little baby sweaters and bibs and skirts, and Rachel highly suspects that Teresa had been the one to actually wrap it. Rachel opens it with Quinn at her side, leaning against her shoulder with an arm around her waist, and—

"You're giving us a picture of a chair?" Rachel asks incredulously when she pulls out the plain color photo that's mounted inside a cheap dollar store frame.

"No, I'm giving you the  _chair,_ " Santana corrects, reaching over to tap her nail against the image beneath the glass. "It's sitting in the middle of my bedroom right now 'cause there's no way I was lugging that thing to the restaurant. You'll get the real thing later tonight."

"Tony's lending us his truck and his muscles," Teresa chimes in with a grin, referring to her brother. "It's a rocker," she explains. "For your nursery."

Rachel studies the picture again with new eyes. It's a cozy looking chair with plush, off-white cushions and rolled arms, and she can almost imagine Quinn sitting in it, rocking their baby daughter. Quinn hugs her tighter, as if sensing her thoughts. "It's perfect."

"Comfortable too," Santana assures them with a smirk.

Rachel's gaze darts to her suspiciously. "You'd better not have done anything in that chair but sit."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Like I'd do _that_ on your baby furniture. Give me _some_  credit."

"Thank you, Santana," Quinn says appreciatively, letting go of Rachel to give their friend a hug. "For everything."

"Yeah. Well...gotta score those godmother points somehow," Santana mumbles uncomfortably, lightly thumping Quinn on the back before breaking out of the hug and reaching for the last gift on the table.

"That's really going to be anti-climatic now," Teresa warns them, nodding towards her gift. "It's just a little something homemade."

"She's being modest," Santana contradicts as she passes the box into Quinn's waiting hands.

It's bigger than the one Santana had given them but nearly as flat, and as soon as Quinn carefully removes the pink wrapping paper, they both understand why. It's an eighteen by twenty-four inch canvas painting of two cats sitting on a half moon, one black and the other yellow—their tails tangled together in the shape of a heart—gazing up at a little white mouse with pink ears that's sleeping on a star above them. It's different than the design that she'd painted on their nursery wall but done in a similar style and color scheme to match it nearly perfectly.

"Oh, wow," Quinn breathes, tears springing to her eyes again. "This is amazing."

"My girl's got talent," Santana brags, winking at Teresa, who only rolls her eyes.

"She does," Rachel agrees as she gazes down at the painting. "We're definitely hanging this in the nursery."

"That was my hope," Teresa admits with a crooked smile. "I'm glad you like it."

"We love it," Quinn promises, holding it up for everyone else to see.

"Damn, I think I need to hire you to illustrate our children's books," Aileen muses thoughtfully.

Teresa laughs. "I'll give you my card."

She's clearly not taking Aileen seriously, but Rachel suspects that Quinn's editor isn't actually joking. After all, she does like to commission local artists to design book covers for her writers.

The shower begins to wrap up after that, and Rachel and Quinn take the time to thank everyone one more time while Santana collects her name game sheets, reading off a few of the better suggestions before quickly tallying up the results and declaring Beth the winner. She gets a gift card to Saks Fifth Avenue too.

Leroy gives them both a hug. "Your daddy and I will load up our car with as much of this as we can fit. Shelby has offered to bring what we can't."

"I'm parked just a block down," she tells them, gesturing out the door.

"Harry and I will help with the loading," Kurt volunteers before kissing Rachel's cheek. "It was a lovely shower." He turns to press a kiss to Quinn's cheek as well. "Baby Fabray made out like a bandit."

Quinn laughs, resting a hand on her belly. "She certainly did."

"I'm guessing you'll be catching a ride with the Berry dads," Santana says before turning to address Judy. "We can bring your suitcase when we bring the rocking chair if that works for you."

Judy nods. "That will be fine, Santana. Thank you."

"Oh, my God," Quinn gasps, eyes widening as she stares at her mother. "You're staying with us," she finally realizes before turning to Rachel and lightly slapping her shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me that? I would have cleaned the apartment."

Rachel rubs at her assaulted shoulder with a frown. "I took care of that on Thursday, Quinn," she reminds her wife slowly. "I cleaned the apartment, put fresh sheets on the spare bed, and went grocery shopping."

Quinn scoffs. "That was days ago. I would have made sure everything was ready  _last night_  if I'd known we were having company." Frankly, Rachel is a little offended that Quinn doubts her tidying up skills.

"I'm sure everything is fine, Quinnie," Judy assures her, touching her arm. "I'm only staying until Monday after all."

Quinn takes a breath, giving her mother a fake smile. "Of course, Mom." When Judy turns to speak with Beth for a moment, Quinn drags Rachel off to the side, hissing in her ear. "It won't be fine. You know my mother is like a heat seeking missile when it comes to dust and clutter."

"Do you not trust me to have adequately prepared our apartment for a guest?" Rachel asks, pouting.

"A guest,  _yes_. My mother,  _no,_ " Quinn answers honestly, dragging an agitated hand through her hair.

"Calm down, baby," Rachel urges, rubbing her shoulder. "Judy will be too busy admiring our new apartment and helping us store all of our newly acquired baby paraphernalia to nitpick the one little speck of dust I might have missed."

Quinn raises an eyebrow. "So you admit you might have missed some dust?"

Rachel huffs. "And people think _I'm_  the obsessive one."

"Oh, sweetie, you are," Quinn confirms, cupping Rachel's cheek. "But I love you anyway."

"And you're happy that your mother and Santana threw you a baby shower," Rachel prods, hoping that happiness will sufficiently balance out Quinn's distress over her inability to make sure their apartment has been cleaned to her mother's high standards.

"Us," Quinn corrects, stroking Rachel's cheek once before dropping her hand. "They threw  _us_  a shower. And yes, I'm very happy."

"I'm glad.".

This whole afternoon had turned out so much better than Rachel had dared to hope—even if she does now have a stroller, car seat, bassinet, and high chair to figure out how to put together. Well—she supposes she really won't have to worry about the high chair for the first few months. She'll just need to get her trusty screwdriver out again.

Once the gifts are packed up in the cars, the leftover cookies and cakes are doggie-bagged, and their friends have all been hugged goodbye, Rachel, Quinn, and Judy pile into the backseat of Hiram's Cadillac and head back to their apartment with Shelby's car not far behind.

Once the cars are parked—thankfully not too far away from each other or the building—Rachel helps carry up the first batch of gifts. Quinn is only permitted to carry the painting that Teresa had given them and only because it's fairly light. They store all of their bounty between the bedrooms, the laundry room, and the closets while the painting goes directly into the nursery to be hung just as soon as they can find a suitable wall hanger. It's a really good thing they're in a bigger apartment now. They're going to need the extra rooms just for storage at this rate.

Hiram and Leroy make a second trip down to bring up the remaining gifts, and Shelby volunteers to help them while Quinn gives her mother a quick tour of the apartment with Beth and Rachel in tow. Both Judy and Beth  _ooh_  and  _aah_  over the (mostly) finished nursery.

"This apartment is much better for a growing family than your last one," Judy approves, though she still somehow manages to make it sound like more of a dig to their former home than a compliment to this one.

Luckily, the return of Rachel's parents with the final few gifts keeps Judy from inspecting the apartment too thoroughly, and after Rachel drags some extra chairs from their dining room set into the living room, they all settle down for a somewhat awkward family reunion, though it's nice to see Judy making an effort to connect with Beth. Rachel's dads have a talent for keeping the conversation lively, so an hour flies by without Rachel really noticing.

Shelby and Beth are the first to leave. Rachel would venture to guess that it's because Shelby still doesn't feel comfortable actually being her _mother_ , and family gatherings like this one are a painful reminder of the relationship that she and Rachel don't have. Or maybe Rachel is just projecting her own feelings onto Shelby.

Beth enthusiastically hugs both Rachel and Quinn before she goes, patting Quinn's belly again and saying goodbye to the baby. (She refrains from referring to her as her sister niece again.)

Shelby doesn't offer any hugs, but when Rachel walks her to the door, she does pause to reach for Rachel's hand with a hesitant smile. "I hope you know how happy I am that you're letting me be involved."

It's an acknowledgment of all the little inroads they've made—Rachel accepting the quilt, allowing her to be a grandmother, inviting her for brunch, letting her come to the shower. Somehow, it's all still so very complicated between them.

Rachel nods, briefly squeezing her mother's hand. "I'm glad that you  _want_  to be." She only wishes that Shelby had wanted to be a part of things with  _Rachel_ when she'd first come back into her life.

Shelby's smile grows just a little bit more confident. "If you need anything, just call."

"I will," Rachel promises, though it feels like trusting Shelby enough to actually make that call might still be a little too far beyond her reach.

After Shelby and Beth are gone, Rachel's dads begin to make noises about leaving as well, but since they both tend to be as verbose as Rachel can be—she does take after them quite a bit—they're still there when Santana texts to say that she's downstairs with their rocking chair.

Her daddy immediately volunteers to go down and help them carry it up, and her dad follows. "I'm going to make sure your daddy doesn't throw out his back."

"My back is fine, Leroy," Hiram defends, affronted.

Leroy shakes his head. "You say that now…"

"Just let Teresa's brother do the heavy lifting," Rachel warns them both.

They obey her to a degree. When the group appears at the apartment door, Teresa's brother, Tony, is bearing the brunt of the weight with Teresa supporting one front corner of the chair while Hiram takes the other. Leroy holds the door open for them, and Santana—well, Santana is at least wheeling Judy's suitcase behind her.

Teresa's brother is all muscles and tanned skin with the same dark hair and pale blue eyes as his sister, and Rachel suspects that he probably could have carried the chair by himself if he'd needed to. The one other time she'd met him had been last October when they'd all been helping Teresa move in with Santana, and he'd done most of the heavy lifting on that day too. He seems like a nice enough guy, and Teresa certainly adores him. If Rachel had met him back when she'd been single, she might have even tried to get his number.

She doesn't mention that to Quinn.

Santana parks Judy's suitcase next to the breakfast bar, greeting an already overstimulated Oliver with a dismissive, "Demon cat," as she passes, which makes him hiss at her and retreat into the bathroom. Rachel would scold her for it, but for once it isn't really her fault, and she's glad to have him out from underfoot while they're moving furniture into the nursery. She and Quinn have taken care to keep him away from all the baby furniture so far.

Tony, Teresa, and Rachel's dads maneuver the chair into the nursery with only some minor squabbling about the best way to angle it to get it through the door. Once it's inside, they place it in front of the window near the crib, and it's just about perfect.

"Thank God it fits. I wasn't about to take that fucker back," Santana says, relieved.

"Language," Rachel chastises, pointing to Quinn's belly.

Santana rolls her eyes. "Please. The munchkin isn't even here yet. She doesn't care if I curse."

"But I do," Judy informs her primly.

Santana winces, looking duly chastised. "Sorry, Judes." Then she smirks at Quinn. "Let's see if  _you_  fit, Q-tip." She gestures to the chair. "Go on and give it test spin."

Quinn reaches out to flick Santana's arm as she passes her on the way to the chair. "I'm only listening to you because I want to see if that chair is as comfortable as it looks."

"Oh, it is," Hiram assures her, making Quinn pause beside the chair and look at him with an arched eyebrow.

Rachel frowns at her daddy. "How do  _you_  know?"

He smiles sheepishly. "Your dad and I  _may_  have tested it before this nice, muscular young man," his hand hovers over Tony's shoulder without touching it while he eyes that shoulder with undisguised appreciation, "carried it up here."

"Daddy!" Rachel scolds, slapping his arm.

"Someone is sleeping in the guest room tonight," Leroy announces with a frown, crossing his arms as he scowls at his husband.

"Um…I'm gonna go wait in the truck." Tony hooks his thumb in the direction of the door. "Don't take too long, Teri. I gotta be back by seven. I have a date tonight," he explains, glancing at Hiram with humor in his eyes, "with a  _lady_."

Teresa chuckles, giving his shoulder a shove. "We'll be down in a couple minutes, Tony."

He gives them a salute and then makes one of those weird gun motions with his finger and thumb pointing in Quinn's direction. "Congrats on the bambina," he says, his Jersey accent even thicker over the words, before he's out the door.

"Teri?" Quinn echoes in amusement once he's gone.

"Don't even think about it," Teresa warns, pointing a finger at Quinn. "Even  _Santana_  knows better than to ever call me that."

The brief grimace on Santana's face speaks of intimate knowledge with the consequences of having crossed that particular line at least once. "I like to keep my girl happy," she admits, slipping an arm around Teresa's waist, "so she keeps  _me_  happy, if you know what I mean?" she finishes with a devilish smirk.

" _Everyone_  knows what you mean," Quinn drawls.

"I'm sure I don't," Judy mutters under her breath.

Quinn finally settles into the chair with an appreciative, "Oh," closing her eyes as she sinks further into the cushions and pushes off with a foot to send it rocking. "This  _is_ comfortable. I may never get up again."

"Well, we'll leave you to sort that out on your own," Santana says, removing her arm from Teresa's waist only to grab for her hand. "We've got a brother to ditch and an empty apartment to get back to. Later, bit…" she cuts herself off abruptly, guilty eyes darting to Judy. "Best friends forever," she amends with exaggerated perkiness.

Teresa laughs gaily at her effort, turning to Quinn's mother with mischief in her eyes. "If you get bored here, Judy, you're welcome to come stay with us."

Completely missing the joke, Judy looks perplexed by the invitation. "Thank you, dear, but I don't think that will be necessary."

Teresa only laughs again, and Santana rolls her eyes, tugging her girlfriend out of the nursery with a, "Later, Fabrays. Adios, Berry men."

"You have very odd friends," Judy observes after the apartment door slams behind the couple.

Quinn giggles, rocking happily in the chair with her hands resting on her belly. "Yeah, but they're  _ours_ ," she proudly claims, grinning up at Rachel, and Rachel smiles back and nods her agreement. Their very odd friends basically just finished their nursery for them, discounting a set of shelves that Rachel still has her eyes on.

Eventually, Quinn does get up from the rocking chair, though Rachel has to help her, and Rachel finally gets the chance to test out the chair for herself. It really is very comfortable.

Rachel invites her fathers to stay for dinner, but they politely decline. "We have a long drive back to Fairfield," Leroy reminds her, giving her one more hug. And then, after multiple cheek kisses and fond farewells, her dads finally make it out the door, leaving Rachel and Quinn alone with Judy.

They're all still fairly full from all the food they'd consumed at the tea service, so dinner is a vegetarian chef salad with mushrooms and edamame that Rachel is an expert at preparing. Afterwards, Judy decides to retire early, tired from her flight and the baby shower festivities, and she compliments the guest room as being much nicer than the cluttered one at their old apartment, "Even if it is a little sparsely decorated."

Quinn gives Rachel an exasperated look. "We're doing that room next."

It's still a bit early for the two of them to call it a night, so they lounge in the living room for awhile, enjoying the relative privacy. They've both changed into their comfortable loungewear, and Quinn is propped up against the arm of the sofa with her feet in Rachel's lap so that Rachel can rub her swollen ankles. Oliver has ventured out of his hiding place once again and is curled up in the chair next to them, purring contentedly.

"Some of these names are terrible," Quinn comments, visibly amused as she shifts through the sheets of paper that Santana had given them. "Franca, Hera, Rebel, Lyric," she lists, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"At least Lyric is musical," Rachel allows, though she certainly doesn't love it. "And those are still better than  _Cherry_."

"You know that's the only reason Santana used your maiden name."

"I am aware," Rachel confirms, biting back her smile. "There are some not-terrible names in there though," she concedes, nodding towards the papers. "I rather like Lea and Elena and Lily."

Quinn looks thoughtful as she shuffles through the pages again. "You know, every single one of these has the name  _Alice_  on it."

Rachel grins. "That's not surprising. It was in the name of the restaurant after all." She makes a mental note to take Quinn back there someday when they'll have more time to fully enjoy the atmosphere and browse through the tea shop out front.

"So why isn't  _Alice_  on our list?" Quinn asks with an arched brow.

Rachel's hands still on Quinn's ankles, brows furrowed. "I don't know," she mumbles as she meets Quinn's expectant gaze, mentally running through their possibilities list and realizing that Quinn is right. "It probably should be. Alice is one of your favorite books."

"It is, but it's also where we had our first kiss," Quinn reminds her tenderly.

Rachel nods, eyes momentarily fluttering closed as she calls up the memory of that unforgettable afternoon and the very first, feather-lite touch of Quinn's lips against her own, still as vivid to her as if it had happened only this morning. "It does have a special meaning to us," she agrees, rubbing her palm over Quinn's calf. "And I'm pretty sure its actual meaning is nobility."

Quinn laughs, shaking her head. "Do I even want to ask why you know that?"

"Because you love the book," Rachel supplies easily, gazing fondly at her wife. She can't recall when she'd first come across this particular piece of knowledge, but she's certain that it must have stuck with her because of Quinn. "And you really like the name, don't you?"

Quinn catches her lower lip between her teeth, nodding shyly. "I really do."

"Me too," Rachel agrees with a grin. "Let's put it on the list."

"Yay," Quinn cheers, hugging the papers to her chest.

Another thought occurs to Rachel then, and her grin turns into a smirk as she goes back to rubbing her wife's ankles. "It also goes really well with  _Lucy_."

Those pages immediately flutter at her head, and Rachel laughs unabashedly.

_xx_

Rachel doesn't see much of Quinn's mother on Sunday. They share breakfast together that Judy is nice enough to cook for them, but then Rachel has to leave for her matinee, and she stays in Midtown between shows, taking her time at the stage door and grabbing a quick dinner before her second curtain call. She's confident that Quinn is in good hands with her mother, though she's a little nervous that they might decide to go buy out another baby store in her absence. The Fabray women do love to shop.

By the time Rachel gets home from her evening performance, the apartment is dark and quiet, so after giving Oliver his midnight snack, she pads towards the bedroom as quietly as possible, expecting to find Quinn asleep in their bed. Instead, she's waylaid by the light peeking out from under the nursery door, and she gently pushes it open to find her wife in their new rocking chair with her tongue poking out between her teeth, sewing. The collar of her oversized sleep shirt is slipping down over one pale shoulder, her glasses are perched on her nose, and her hair is tousled. She looks absolutely adorable, and Rachel smiles at the sight of her.

Quinn glances up when she hears Rachel, dropping her needlework onto her belly and grinning up at her wife. "Hi. How were your shows?"

"Practically perfect," she declares with a wave of her hand, moving close enough to Quinn to brush a soft kiss over her lips. "Did you have a good day?"

"Pretty good. Mom and I did some shopping and then we took a crash course on quilting," Quinn informs her, gesturing to the colorful fabric on her belly.

Rachel's eyes widen as she looks down at the little patches of material in white and green and yellow that Quinn has stitched together into a little clump of—well, she's certain it's supposed to be  _something_. "Oh?"

Quinn sighs, smiling wryly. "I know it doesn't look like much right now, but this _will_  eventually be a gardenia," she vows stubbornly. "Apparently, quilting requires a lot of layering."

Rachel crouches down beside Quinn, fingering the material. She supposes she can see the beginnings of flower petals if she squints. "I have every faith in you," she murmurs, a fond smile pulling at her lips. "I always do."

Quinn practically purrs at the encouragement, picking up the fabric and carefully setting it aside on the arm of the chair opposite Rachel before she threads her fingers into Rachel's hair and kisses her in earnest. It's not meant as a prelude to anything more. It's given for the sake of giving—a simple veneration—and they're both smiling when their lips part.

"So are you fully committed to this midnight quilting venture?" Rachel asks playfully, tipping her chin towards her sewing. "Or are you coming to bed?"

"Bed, definitely," Quinn responds, stroking Rachel's cheek with affection. "Although this chair  _is_  pretty comfy."

Rachel is fully aware of that fact. "But not big enough for two." And she highly doubts that Quinn intends to sleep there, so she rises into a standing position and extends a hand to her wife.

"That is a definite drawback," Quinn admits with a grin as she accepts Rachel's hand, leaving her new project behind for the night.

Rachel leads her wife into their bedroom and, after completing her nightly skincare regime and changing into her pajamas, joins Quinn in their bed to cuddle—and cuddling is all they do. Judy  _is_ sleeping in the next bedroom, after all, and they still haven't learned how to be particularly quiet.

Judy's flight leaves just after one o'clock on Monday, so the morning consists of a quick breakfast and fond farewells until her next visit, which will inevitably be the visit in which she's meeting her new granddaughter for the first time. Judy insists that she's perfectly capable of getting herself back to the airport on her own, and she promises to call Quinn when the plane has safely landed. Rachel is more than happy to skip the trip to LaGuardia.

Judy's departure also marks the day of their first childbirth class. Rachel's schedule with  _Confessions_  had made it difficult to find one that wouldn't require Rachel to miss multiple performances in the same week. Missing those two shows on Saturday had made Bernie very unhappy, but Rachel simply hadn't known how long the shower might last or if she'd be able to make it to the evening performance. It's the first time she's had to miss two shows in the same day since she and Quinn had been trying to get pregnant.

The class they'd eventually settled on is, perhaps, a little less comprehensive than Rachel would prefer, condensing everything they'll need to know into six hours over two consecutive Monday evenings, but it's the one class that doesn't actually require her to miss any performances, so it's the one they'd chosen—and they'd honestly been lucky to find it.

Quinn seems fairly unconcerned that they'll potentially be missing out on some very important information by choosing a two-night class over a six-week one, claiming that her prior experience is enough to compensate for that, but Rachel remains unconvinced. She's perfectly aware that Quinn had gone into her last childbirth experience with absolutely  _no_  preparation whatsoever, so it's highly unlikely that she'd actually managed to retain anything worthwhile.

The first class begins promptly at six-thirty in a building near Columbus Circle, and Rachel goes prepared with a notebook and pen, ready to take thorough notes. "You know we're not getting graded on this, right?" Quinn teases, eyes sparkling with mirth as Rachel pulls her notebook from her oversized purse.

"Perhaps not officially," Rachel acknowledges, meeting Quinn's amused gaze, "but there's going to be a pretty big test at the end of this that I would very much prefer not to fail."

Quinn bites back her laughter, reaching out to pat Rachel's forearm. "You couldn't if you tried."

Rachel isn't so certain of that. Quinn might have experience with this whole giving birth thing, unfortunate circumstances aside, but Rachel surely does not. All of the research in the world can't fully prepare her to actually witness the birth of her first child, but that doesn't stop her from wanting to go into this armed with as much information as possible.

She glances around at the other people making their way into the room. The number of chairs seems to indicate that there are only ten couples in the class, and Rachel observes each arrival with a sense of camaraderie—though they're all undoubtedly at slightly different stages of their lives  _and_  their pregnancies. A few are clearly older and a few seem to be younger, and all save one enter in traditionally heteronormative pairs.

Rachel can't tell if the other two women sitting together are romantic partners or not. It could very well be one friend acting as the other's coach in place of an absent father-to-be, or perhaps they're sisters, though they don't really look anything alike. They both seem fairly young, though thankfully not as young as Quinn had been when she'd been pregnant with Beth, and neither one of them seems to be a wearing wedding ring, though that's hardly an indication of anything. When the pregnant one notices Rachel eyes on them, a half smile forms on her lips and she nudges her partner, turning to say something to her. That woman then looks over at Rachel, eyes widening in recognition—which also isn't an indication of anything.

Rachel merely smiles politely back before resuming her perusal of the room.

There are no padded floor mats or yoga balls in sight, but there is a pile of large pillows in the corner. The chairs are set up in a semicircle facing the front of the room, where a single chair sits next to a table containing what looks to be some pamphlets, two realistic baby dolls, and a laptop clearly hooked up to a projector because it's displaying an introductory screen with the name of their instructor, Nancy Jackson, on the whiteboard behind it.

As it turns out, Nancy is a retired labor and delivery nurse, and she's been instructing these classes for the last four years. Nancy opens the class by summarizing what they'll be covering tonight as opposed to what they'll discuss in the next class. Tonight will focus primarily on pre-labor and the labor itself, along with various methods they can use to ease the discomfort of late pregnancy and labor pains. Next week will cover the birth and everything that follows.

After the introduction, Nancy inundates them with information and examples of exercises and breathing techniques that Quinn should be doing right now to help her prepare for an easier labor, and Rachel diligently scribbles down notes on every one of them. Much like Doctor Barnes had done, Nancy recommends walking five or six days a week for at least thirty minutes and gives them tips for exercising safely.

There are points when Nancy has them stand and practice a few of the methods that she gives them for alleviating the aches and pains of pregnancy. At least one of those methods has them all giggling—one that involves Rachel standing behind Quinn with her arms wrapped around her wife's waist and hands supporting her belly while they shuffle their weight back and forth like a pair of penguins. When Quinn admits that it really does help relieve the nagging ache in her lower back, Rachel decides that the benefits surely outweigh the silliness of the activity.

At the break, the couples mingle a bit, introducing themselves. Rachel soon discovers that the other pair of women is  _not_ , in fact, a couple. "I'm actually doing this on my own," the young woman, whose name is Kim, admits with a sad shrug, though she's clearly appreciative that her best friend is here to support her. But there's something about the way her friend, Amy, looks at her when she says it that makes Rachel wonder if there might be something more to the story.

And then Amy looks at Rachel with a shy smile and tells her, "I've seen all of your shows at least twice. You're really wonderful." She blushes then, dropping her eyes to the floor while Kim giggles softly, and even Rachel's occasionally questionable gaydar can't miss the implication that Amy might be at least a little bit sapphically inclined. "I mean, your  _singing_  is wonderful," Amy quickly clarifies. "Not that  _you're_  not wonderful too. I'm sure you are…at least what I've read about you." Her eyes widen in alarm. "Not that I'm some crazy stalker or something."

"She's a fan," Kim explains needlessly, saving her friend from embarrassing herself further.

Rachel offers the women one of her patented Rachel Berry smiles. "I do appreciate my fans."

Quinn chuckles and nods her agreement. "You just made her night."

Amy's smile is a little more confident after that, and she hesitantly meets Rachel's eyes again. "I also really appreciate that you've never hidden your bisexuality. Our community needs more celebrities like you."

Rachel takes that as a confirmation that her gaydar isn't wrong this time, and she wonders if she might also be right in her suspicion that Amy's feelings for her friend are perhaps a bit more than friendly.

"I think Amy has a crush on you," Quinn tells her after their first class comes to an end, sounding more amused than annoyed by the possibility.

"A fangirl crush, perhaps," Rachel allows with a shrug. "But I think she might have a real crush on Kim."

"Oh, there's no doubt," Quinn agrees with a wistful expression. "And I say that from painful experience." There's a familiar pang in Rachel's heart that has her reaching for Quinn's hand, and Quinn takes it with a grateful smile. "Of course, I also had the painful experience of being alone and pregnant like Kim, so I guess I kinda sympathize with both of them."

"But now you get the girl  _and_  the baby," Rachel reminds her lovingly.

Quinn's smile is nearly blinding when she says, "I do."

They attend the second class on the following Monday, and it covers the birth through bringing the baby home. Rachel nearly doesn't make it past the first half of the class after Nancy shows them a very explicit video of a natural birth that leaves Rachel's eyes wide, her jaw gaping, and her hand clenched in a death grip around Quinn's. She feels slightly dizzy at the thought of watching Quinn in that much pain—with all of  _that_  happening in very sensitive areas.

"Breathe," Quinn whispers against her ear when the video ends, and Rachel inhales raggedly on command.

She turns her terrified eyes to her wife, but a breathless, "Quinn," is all she manages to say.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Snap out of it," she orders lowly. "I'm the one who'll be pushing a tiny person out of me. And I need you to not freak out while I'm doing it."

Rachel takes another deep breath, nodding jerkily. "No freaking out," she promises hoarsely.

She  _will_  be freaking out.

She can almost guarantee it will happen at least once, but she silently vows to do her very best to keep it to a minimum and stay as calm as she can manage for Quinn.

Nancy wisely calls for a break after the video to give everyone a chance to recover from it, and Rachel feels mildly better about her mini freak out when she discovers how many others in the room have had the same reaction.

The next part of the class includes a discussion about the benefits of skin-to-skin contact between parents and babies immediately after birth, something that Doctor Barnes has mentioned to them as well. Rachel and Quinn have already decided that they'd like to do it, and Nancy only makes them more certain in their decision. It means keeping their family and friends from meeting the baby for at least an hour or so after she's born, but they both feel that bonding with their daughter is the most important thing, especially when it also has so many health benefits for the baby. They just need to get around to breaking the news to their parents.

There's a box of lifelike baby dolls tonight, one for each couple, and Nancy passes them out in the last hour, keeping one for herself to demonstrate techniques for skin-to-skin, swaddling, diaper-changing, and breastfeeding—another thing that Quinn has decided to do. She encourages them all to practice on their babies, and Rachel watches in bemusement as Quinn attempts to correctly swaddle their doll into a 'baby burrito' the way Nancy had demonstrated.

"I don't see how that can be considered an equivalent representation of a baby," Rachel voices with a small frown. "Our daughter isn't going to just lie there unmoving while you attempt to wrap her up."

Quinn glances up at her with an arched brow. "I thought you were all for getting in as much practice as possible. Wouldn't you rather accidentally break the doll than our baby girl while you learn the proper technique?" she challenges playfully.

Rachel does  _not_  want to break their daughter. "Point taken," she concedes, gesturing for Quinn to, "Carry on."

Quinn laughs, spreading the baby blanket back out on the floor again. "Actually, I think you need to try." She carefully picks up the doll as if it were a real baby and holds it out to Rachel. "Think of it as a dress rehearsal."

A grin tugs at Rachel's lips as she takes the doll from her wife's hands. "I can do that." Except that she doesn't move her hand quickly enough when Quinn lets go and ends up holding the doll a bit lopsidedly—its head dipping dangerously towards the floor—before she quickly corrects her grip and tugs the doll tightly to her chest, horrified by her fumble. "Practice is good," she mumbles, staring down at the doll with renewed determination. It's slightly stained and showing its age, but Rachel will get the thing swaddled and diapered without dropping it if it's the last things she does.

Quinn merely watches her in amusement.

When the class finally concludes, they say goodbye to the other couples, and Rachel takes care to wish Kim luck with her baby, slyly commenting on how wonderful it is to have such a caring and supportive friend like Amy. "Quinn was that friend for me before she was more." Amy blushes scarlet, sucking in a little breath, but Kim's smile is contemplative as she glances at her friend.

"Did you seriously just try to match-make them?" Quinn asks with an indulgent grin once the women have gone.

"Maybe," Rachel says coyly. "I do have a talent for it, after all."

Quinn only laughs—at least until Rachel corners Nancy to ask all of the follow-up questions she's been jotting down throughout the classes.

They're there for awhile.

_xx_

July slips away from Rachel more quickly than she'd like, and before she knows it, she's looking at her last two weeks of performances—and less than a month until their daughter arrives.

The nursery is fully furnished and ready to go, and Quinn even manages to finish the patch for the quilt. It turns out much better than Rachel had imagined after that first glimpse—a puffy, padded cluster of patterned fabrics arranged into overlapping petals that sit on bed of green leaves—and Quinn attaches it to the rest of the quilt with the skill of an expert quilter.

"I might take it up as a hobby," she admits, admiring the finished quilt with no small amount of pride as she places it over the rail of the crib with the newest patch on full display. "So many plot bunnies hopped through my head while I was stitching. It's a surprisingly good brainstorming activity for writing."

While Rachel can certainly appreciate Quinn's creative outlets, she somehow doubts that either one of them will have much time left for hobbies once their daughter is here, despite Rachel's soon-to-be-unemployed status.

It's with that status in mind that she makes her way to a meeting with Evelyn on a Wednesday morning in early August. She rarely goes to Evelyn's office these days, doing most of her business with her agent over the phone, but Stacy had called on Tuesday to set this one up, and Rachel wonders if her worries about being dropped as a client are about to come to fruition.

The walls of Evelyn Richardson's office are lined with photos of her most prestigious celebrity clients, and Rachel is mildly relieved to see that hers is still on display. Evelyn had hung it after she'd won her first Tony. It was taken right after the ceremony and in it, Rachel is beaming at the camera with the statue clutched proudly in her hands. Rachel has a copy of that very photo at home along with a similar one that was taken this past June, and she's really hoping that she'll be able to add a few more just like them to her collection in the years to come.

When she walks in, Evelyn is seated at her sleek modern desk. Her auburn hair is pulled back into a twist, highlighting her sculpted cheekbones and the sharp line of her jaw, and she leans back in her plush leather chair— _real_  leather, much to Rachel's distaste—smiling her charming alligator smile. "Rachel, thank you for stopping in." She gestures to the chair across from her "Have a seat."

Evelyn is a fairly attractive woman in her late forties, slender and always stylish in silk blouses and designer slacks, but there's a certain calculating gleam in her gray eyes that makes her seem like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. She can be a very charming predator when she wants to be, though—able to convince a person that being eaten by wolves is entirely their own choice.

"Stacy made it sound rather important," Rachel relays as she slides into the chair across from her agent. "Though I confess, I'm not sure what you needed to see me about. Is there some problem with my end date for  _Confessions_  that I haven't been made aware of?"

"No. No problems there," Evelyn assures her, leaning forward and folding her hands on top of her desk. "I simply wanted to discuss how we'll proceed in the coming months."

"Proceed with what?" Rachel asks warily, her stomach twisting with sudden dread.

Evelyn's smile widens. "New projects for you, of course."

The mild relief that Rachel feels that Evelyn isn't dropping her is almost immediately snuffed out by annoyance at being called to her office only to revisit this conversation yet again. "I believe I already made it clear that I'm taking an extended break to focus on my family."

"You did," Evelyn acknowledges, and then promptly dismisses it with a wave of her hand. "And I get that you want to focus on the mommy thing for awhile, which is admirable, Rachel," and Rachel's frown deepens at the casual diminishment of such a momentous life-changing event, "but there's no reason you can't do that and still tend to your career." Rachel opens her mouth to protest, but Evelyn immediately holds up a hand to stop her, rushing to clarify, "I'm not saying another stage commitment, but I can put your name out there for some T.V. guest spots. You'd be working for a week…two tops…and then you could go right back to your family."

Rachel stares at her in disbelief. "No."

"Rachel. Be reasonable," Evelyn implores, leaning back in her chair.

"I'm going on maternity leave, Evelyn," Rachel declares firmly, standing her ground. "That means  _no_  auditions." No matter how very tempting a television guest spot might be.

"Maternity leave typically lasts six weeks in this country," Evelyn reminds her snarkily.

Rachel grits her teeth and silently counts to ten before responding. "That sad and questionable practice notwithstanding, I promised Quinn a year." And she's not about to break that promise to her wife.

Evelyn sighs, tapping her perfectly manicured nails against the top of her desk. "Rachel, can I be frank with you?"

"Would it stop you if I said  _no_?"

"Of course not," Evelyn answers unapologetically before continuing on without pause. "You've got some great buzz around your name right now with that last Tony win. Everyone wants to know what you're doing next. I've got two television shows that have expressed interest in having you on for an episode or two, and Atlantic Records wants to meet with you about a potential album, but I don't know how long that will last if you don't capitalize on it now."

Rachel's mouth falls open in shock. "Atlantic Records wants to sign me?" she squeaks, her heart beating faster at the revelation.

"They want to talk to you about working with them on some original music," Evelyn confirms, leaning forward again. "I mean, you can try your hand at writing some songs from home, can't you? It'd be months before you'd even have to start recording anything, and they have a studio right here in the city." Her entire countenance, from her smile to her voice, is steeped in professional seduction. "At least let me set up a meeting with them."

Rachel feels her resolve crumble to dust. "Well...I suppose one meeting couldn't hurt," she hesitantly reasons.

"Great," Evelyn pounces, already picking up her phone. "I'll get something scheduled, and I'll have Stacy forward you the info on the guest spots too...just in case you change your mind," she quickly adds when she sees Rachel's mouth open to protest again. The phone is already to her ear, which is always Rachel's cue that she's being dismissed, so she stands to leave, still feeling a bit thunderstruck by the possibility of recording an album that  _isn't_  a Broadway cast recording. "Oh, and here," Evelyn calls out to stop her, holding out a plain pink envelope for Rachel to take. "Happy Motherhood. Sorry I missed the party," she says distractedly before waving Rachel away so she can turn her full attention to her phone.

"Thank you, Evelyn," she mutters as she wanders out of the office.

She says a weak goodbye to Stacy on the way out of the building, her mind still spinning as she fingers the envelope in her hands. It isn't even sealed, so she doesn't bother to resist the urge to peek inside, finding two gift certificates for a spa treatment for her and Quinn. Rachel laughs under her breath, hoping Quinn will appreciate the gift—because she probably isn't going to appreciate how easily Rachel had just succumbed to her own ambition.


	6. Meant Every Moment

Rachel comes home from Evelyn's office with a vase full of purple hyacinths, a box of Quinn's favorite chocolates, and an anxious expression that sends Quinn's stomach sinking down into her toes. "What's wrong?"

"Why does anything need to be wrong?" Rachel quickly counters, setting her offerings down on the table with a nervous smile. "Can I not simply decide to bring flowers and candy home to my beautiful, pregnant wife?"

That only makes Quinn more certain that something is wrong. "Evelyn dropped you," she deduces shakily, crossing her arms protectively over her stomach with a growing sense of dread. It's what Rachel had feared when she'd gotten that call from Stacy, and what Quinn has been worrying about ever since Rachel had informed Evelyn of her desire to take a year off. "She dropped you as a client, and you don't want to upset me, so you're trying to soften the news to keep me from marching down to her office and giving that bitch a piece of my mind."

Rachel takes a deep breath before shaking her head slowly. "She didn't drop me." Her expression turns guilty as she touches Quinn's shoulder. "Maybe we should sit down."

Quinn's brows furrow as she studies her wife. If Evelyn is still her agent, but Rachel is bringing Quinn gifts after their  _urgent_  meeting, then—

"What did you do?" she demands with a frown.

Rachel sighs, sinking down on the sofa and gazing up at Quinn with wide, pleading eyes. "Can you please sit with me?" she begs, reaching up a hand.

Quinn ignores it, choosing to sit on the chair instead. "Evelyn convinced you to do  _Once_ , didn't she?" she asks flatly, disappointment churning in her gut at the idea of Rachel leaving her and their daughter for another grueling rehearsal and performance schedule so soon after the baby is born. She'd really believed that Rachel wanted to be at home with them. How many times has she sworn to Quinn that she doesn't want to be an absentee mother? That she wants to get this right?

"No," Rachel immediately denies, shaking her head again. "I was very firm with her that I won't be doing any new shows for at least a year."

"But?" Quinn grits out, narrowing suspicious eyes on her wife.

Rachel worries her lip for a moment before slipping off the sofa and moving to sit on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of Quinn. "But...she's setting up a meeting with Atlantic Records." Rachel's eyes are bright and hopeful at the revelation, and she reaches out a hand to rest over Quinn's knee. "They want to talk to me about a recording an album, Quinn."

The news unleashes a tornado of conflicting emotions inside of Quinn. Disappointment still swirls within her, but there's also confusion and apprehension mixed with wonder and pride, and she's forced to recognize that if Rachel were telling her this at any other time in their lives, she'd be nothing but thrilled for her wife.

"So you're doing an album now instead of taking maternity leave." She really does try to keep the note of dejection out of her voice, but she can tell by Rachel's wounded expression that she fails.

"No," Rachel reiterates, stubbornly shaking her head once again. "That's not what this is, baby. I don't even know if they actually intend to sign me, and I haven't agreed to anything beyond a meeting." She slides off the coffee table, kneeling on the floor at Quinn's feet and tenderly cupping her belly. "I'm still fully committed to motherhood as my primary role," she vows, eyes pleading with Quinn to understand.

Quinn sighs. "We both know you're not turning down a recording contract, Rachel." And honestly, Quinn would probably never forgive herself if Rachel were to pass up an opportunity like this because of her.

Rachel's expression grows stubborn. "I will if they won't agree to wait at least six months before expecting me to do any actual recording."

"I don't think it works that way," Quinn warns her with a melancholy smile. She'll just have to accept that Rachel might need to go back to work sooner than either of them had planned. She can only hope that recording an album won't be nearly as time intensive as a Broadway production

"Then it won't work," Rachel insists with a familiar glint of determination in her eyes. "And it will be their loss, because I plan to channel all of my complete and utter happiness with my amazing wife and our perfect daughter into song, and I'll have enough material to fill at least half a dozen albums in no time at all. Every record label in the city will be begging me to sign with them."

That tornado of emotion inside of Quinn calms into something decidedly warm and tender with Rachel's (maybe not-so) ridiculous declaration, and a bubble of soft laughter rises up and slips out before Quinn can smother it. She can absolutely envision Rachel telling a roomful of record company executives exactly that. "But you really want to sign with Atlantic," she says knowingly, smiling at her wife.

Rachel drops her gaze, looking almost apologetic. "I really do," she admits quietly before meeting Quinn's eyes again. "But I'm serious about taking an actual maternity leave, Quinn. I have every intention of being here for you and our daughter. I just want to hear what they have to say."

Quinn believes her. "Just promise me you won't sign anything until we talk about it first." Atlantic Records would be stupid not to offer Rachel a contract, and Quinn is already ninety-nine percent certain that she'll end up encouraging Rachel to take it. She knows how much Rachel wants this, and Quinn wants it  _for_  her. An entire album of nothing but Rachel's amazing voice really would be so very wonderful.

"I promise," Rachel instantly swears, pressing a palm over her heart. "No signing new contracts without your full support."

Quinn offers her wife an encouraging smile. "You know I really do want this for you, right?" she asks, hoping Rachel can understand her hesitation. "It's just the timing…"

"Is not ideal," Rachel acknowledges with a nod. "I know." She scrapes her teeth over her lower lip, gazing up at Quinn through her lashes. "Can you forgive me for wanting it anyway?"

Quinn chuckles then, shaking her head indulgently. "I knew who I was marrying, Rachel." She reaches up to stroke her wife's cheek. "And I love your ambition. As long as you keep putting our family first, I'll keep supporting your dreams."

Rachel beams at her, rising up to peck her lips gratefully. "I love you, baby."

"I love you too," Quinn murmurs, patting the hand that's still curved over her belly. "Now give me those chocolates."

Laughing, Rachel rocks back on her heels and reaches for the box to obey Quinn's command—ever attentive to her wife's every need. It's that attentiveness that keeps Quinn from being too upset about the possibility of Rachel cutting her maternity leave short. Quinn supposes that she doesn't actually need Rachel to be at home with her and the baby every minute of the next year. She's willing to make some minor compromises if it means making Rachel as happy as she makes Quinn.

_xx_

Rachel's final performance in _Confessions_  is a Friday night, eighteen days before their daughter is due. Rachel is worried that they're cutting it a little bit too close—Quinn knows she has nightmares about her stage manager pulling her offstage between scenes to tell her that Quinn is being rushed to the hospital—but the contract she'd signed before Quinn had even gotten pregnant had locked her into the role until at least August eighth, and since Rachel had felt that ending her run on a Tuesday night was rather anticlimactic, she'd chosen to take her final bow on Friday instead.

The show is sold out, which is obviously a huge boost to Rachel's ego, but Quinn thinks this one is well-deserved. Her wife has worked hard for the last year, giving her all to every performance while still somehow finding the energy to be an active and attentive partner to Quinn when she's not at the theatre.

There's never been a question in Quinn's mind that she'd be attending Rachel's last show—she'd even made Rachel reserve her seat as soon as the date had been set. In fact, Rachel had made arrangements to have a whole block of tickets available to her just in case anyone else wants to attend. Santana and Kurt had immediately called dibs on four of them.

So Quinn is very surprised—though, in retrospect, she really shouldn't be—when she mentions that ticket to her wife the Monday before the show and Rachel tells her, "You really don't need to come, Quinn. I mean, you've already seen the show dozens of times. It's just not necessary."

Until now, Rachel has been reassuring Quinn not to worry—that the ticket is there if she wants it. It's the  _if_ that probably should have tipped her off.

"It's your  _last show_ ," Quinn argues from her position on the sofa, crossing her arms over her very pronounced belly. "I'm not missing it, Rachel."

Rachel worries her lower lip, looking conflicted as she sinks onto the sofa next to Quinn. "But you're so close to your due date." She reaches out to rub Quinn's belly affectionately—which does not amuse Quinn nearly as much as it usually does. "I really think you and our little star should just stay home and…"

"If you tell me to  _rest_ one more time, I will spike your tofu with bacon grease," Quinn warns irritably, brushing Rachel's hand away.

Rachel gasps in horror. "You would not."

"Try me," Quinn challenges obstinately, so tired of being coddled by her wife—and  _everyone_ else.

For a moment, Rachel's eyes flash with defiance, and she looks like she might say something very unwise, but then she snaps her mouth shut and lets out a little huff through her nose. "I'm only thinking about your comfort, baby. You've been complaining about your back for the last month. Do you really want to be stuck in an uncomfortable theatre seat for three hours if you don't need to be?"

"I  _need_ to be," Quinn insists, unwilling to admit for one second that she isn't actually looking forward to the unforgiving seat, the narrow aisles at the theatre, or the inevitable battle she'll be fighting with her bladder for the entirety of the performance just to avoid getting up from that seat or shuffling her ass through those narrow aisles more than once. "I'm your  _wife_."

"My very  _pregnant_  wife," Rachel counters, eyeing Quinn's stomach pointedly.

"It's not a disability," Quinn snaps, moving her hands to cradle her stomach. "There's no warning on the theatre door that expectant mothers and people with heart conditions shouldn't attend."

Rachel rolls her eyes at that, clearly battling the smile that's pulling up the corners of her mouth. "I can think of a production or two that probably  _should_  have one. But you're right," she admits, sagging against the back of the sofa with a sigh. "I just worry about you, Quinn. You know that."

"I know," Quinn concedes, softening a bit as she reaches out to take Rachel's hand. "But I really want to see you play Iris one more time and bask in the brilliance of your performance," she adds with a grin, having absolutely no reservations about stroking Rachel's ego for her own purposes.

Rachel squeezes her fingers, smiling adoringly. "How can I say  _no_  to that?"

"You really can't," Quinn answers with confidence, happy to get her way. "I've been here with Iris since the very beginning, just like you have." She'd spent months watching her wife construct her first original role, listened intently as Rachel had fretted over character traits and backstory, and worried right along with her when she'd finally made her debut. "I need to say a proper goodbye."

Rachel's smile turns a little watery, and her eyes sparkle with emotion. "I really am going to miss her."

"I know, sweetie." Rachel has devoted more than a year of her life to Iris, pouring so much of her own personality into the character. Sure, there have been understudies who have stepped in to portray her from time-to-time, but there's really no question that she's been Rachel Berry's baby—and now Rachel is giving her up to another actress who'll make Iris  _her_  own, for better or worse. "But she'll always be a part of you."

"Yeah," Rachel breathes out wistfully, lost in her own thoughts for a moment before a gasp fills the silence. Quinn watches her wife jerk to attention, sitting up with shoulders straight, bright eyes and an inspired expression on her face—one that Quinn recognizes all too well. "We could name the baby Iris!" she exclaims excitedly.

Quinn's own smile freezes in place at the unexpected suggestion, and her eyebrows inch up. "You want to name our daughter after the role you originated?" she asks slowly, words dripping with disbelief.

A little pout pulls at Rachel's lips when she hears Quinn's tone. "Too conceited?"

"Maybe a little," Quinn says gently. She really doesn't have any desire to name their daughter after  _any_  of Rachel's roles—she'd preemptively vetoed  _Fanny_ the moment they found out they were having a girl. That particular aversion isn't specific to characters in her wife's acting repertoire though. The characters in Quinn's own books are off limits too. It just feels way too narcissistic.

Rachel sighs again. "I suppose you're right." Her lips curve mischievously. "Of course, we can always claim we named her after the Greek goddess of the rainbow."

Quinn chuckles in mild amusement at Rachel's tenacity. "I think everyone would figure out that was a lie." She rubs her belly soothingly, silently vowing to save her daughter from being named by Rachel's very healthy ego. She'd already had to save her from  _Antoinette_.

"It's a plausible lie though,' Rachel argues cheekily. "You  _are_  kind of a literature geek."

"True," Quinn admits unabashedly—she's not afraid to own it these days, "but if we were going with Greek goddesses, I'd probably suggest the muse of epic poetry instead."

"Which is?" Rachel prods, looking genuinely interested.

"Calliope," rolls off Quinn's tongue with ease, falling into the silence between them with a strange sort of resonance.

"Calliope?" Rachel echoes in her softest, most gentle voice, and Quinn feels a shiver race down her spine at the way the name sounds falling from her lips. "That's…actually a really beautiful name," she murmurs, squeezing Quinn's hand again.

"Yeah," Quinn agrees, her heart skipping oddly.

"It's musical too," Rachel notes with a thoughtful glimmer in her eyes. "You know, like those old calliope steam organs."

Quinn clears her throat, nodding. "I think it also means beautiful voice." And just saying that out loud makes it sound sort of— _perfect_.

"And you just happen to know that?" Rachel teases, echoing the words that Quinn has said to her a number of times over the course of their baby name debates, but it's clear that she's tickled by the thought that she might not be the only one of them who now understands the importance of name meanings.

"Like you said…I'm a literature geek," Quinn reminds her with a tender smile.

Rachel leans into the small distance between them, cupping Quinn's cheek in her hand. "You're  _my_  literature geek," she claims adoringly before brushing a gentle kiss over Quinn's lips. "Calliope is definitely going on the list," she declares when they part, laying a hand over Quinn's belly where their daughter just happens to be kicking in agreement. "Right at the top."

Quinn still feels like they need to actually meet her to be sure, but, "I couldn't agree more." Not only is Calliope a beautiful and unique name, but its meaning strikes a chord with both of them for different but significant reasons. Quinn's sappy smile edges toward victorious when something else occurs to her. "It really doesn't go with Lucy though."

Rachel's smile dims marginally in response, but then it's back with a wicked edge, and her eyes narrow at the challenge. "We'll see about that."

Quinn really isn't worried much. She knows exactly how to get her way where Rachel is concerned. "Why don't you come see about  _me_  now?" she encourages with her best sexy grin.

Rachel's eyes spark with interest, and she inhales sharply. "Really?" she asks with undisguised hopefulness, sliding even closer to Quinn on the sofa. "You're in the mood for that?"

Quinn bites into her lip, rubbing a hand over her belly. She really hasn't been much in the mood since mid-July. She's huge and ungainly and tired all the time these days, but right now she just wants to be close to Rachel—to commemorate the potential naming of their daughter by making love with her wife. They have a very finite amount of time to take advantage of moments like this—just the two of them alone together—and Quinn doesn't want to waste this one.

"Yeah," Quinn breathes out, reaching for her wife. "Come here."

Rachel comes willingly.

More than once.

And so does Quinn.

_xx_

On the night of Rachel's last show, Quinn idly wonders if getting her way is all it's cracked up to be. She has the ticket already in her hand—she hadn't wanted to waddle through the crowd at the box office to pick it up, and Rachel had fully agreed that Quinn was not to be subjected to the extra steps or the aggravation—but Rachel is still worried about the excursion.

"Are you absolutely certain you feel up to this?" she asks for the tenth time that day. "Because I really will understand if you'd rather stay home and…"

"Don't say it," Quinn cuts in sternly, wagging a finger at her. "This is settled, Rachel. I'm coming. Santana and Teresa will be here at six-thirty to pick me up…in a  _car_ ," she emphasizes, reminding her wife that Santana had sprung for a town car to deliver them door-to-door, "and we're meeting Kurt and Harry in front of the theatre. And your dads and Shelby and Beth will be there too." Rachel's dads wanting to be there is no surprise. Shelby is a bit more of one. "I will have eight people coddling me all night." Which will drive her insane, she's sure. "We'll be fine."

"If you're sure," Rachel hedges, still looking uncertain.

"I am. Now go be fabulous," she instructs with a proud smile. It's a couple of hours earlier than Rachel typically leaves for her show, but she wants to make sure she has time to say a proper goodbye to everyone involved with the production before curtain call. "I'll see you later."

"On stage only," Rachel insists, pointing at her in warning. "I imagine I'll be tied up for quite a while meeting fans right after the show, and you don't need to stick around for that. Santana is under strict instructions to bring you straight home."

"Oh, don't worry. I have no plans to hang around your dressing room so everyone in your cast and crew can try to touch my belly one last time." The miniscule amount of patience she'd had for that had disappeared about three months ago—right along with her ankles.

Rachel bites back a smile. "I'm sure they'll be devastated."

Quinn scoffs, rolling her eyes. " _I'm_  sure they'll try to drag you out for drinks after the show once they realize I'm not there."

"And I will respectfully decline," Rachel vows, brushing a kiss over Quinn's lips—one hand sneaking down to cup her belly affectionately. "I'll be singing for you tonight," she relays in that soft, sweet voice.

Quinn melts, eyes very suddenly stinging with unexpected moisture. Damn hormones! "I'll be listening," she promises, pressing her hand over Rachel's, "front row center." Right where Rachel can see her.

It's only when Rachel is out the door and on her way to the theatre that Quinn sags against the kitchen counter, kneading at her lower back. It's been acting up more with every passing day, but Quinn has been downplaying her discomfort to keep her wife from spiraling even deeper into overprotective Rachel mode. Quinn is determined to attend this performance, and she's going to enjoy it, damn it!

She just needs to get dressed.

And probably pee eleven or twelve times.

She takes her time showering, increasingly careful on the slick tiles as her expanding belly throws off her balance more and more. After drying off her body, she dons a robe and sees to her hair and makeup. She wants to look her best even if she isn't feeling it, which is why she ends up standing in her closet for fifteen minutes, staring at her selection of maternity dresses with a frown. She mentally chooses and discards them one-by-one—too tight, too hot, too casual, too flashy—until she finally settles for a sleeveless blue dress with an empire waistline that flatters her bust while falling loosely over her belly.

Once she's dressed, she regards herself in the mirror, placing a hand on top of her stomach as she turns from side-to-side. She feels like she's all belly now, and she doesn't remember being quite this big with Beth—but then she  _had_ gone into labor three weeks early last time, so technically she supposes she's at least four days farther along with this baby that she'd gotten with Beth. Resigned that this is as good as it going to get tonight, Quinn sighs and abandons her reflection to wait for her friends to arrive.

She doesn't have to wait very long. There's a knock on her door promptly at six-thirty, and (as always) she barely gets it open before Santana glides into the apartment with Teresa in tow. Santana is predictably wearing the shortest, tightest dress she could slither into—Quinn kind of hates her for how good she looks in it—and she greets Quinn with her typical snark.

"Hey there, Prego. How's the Eggo?" she asks breezily, patting Quinn's stomach.

Quinn slaps her hand away. "Can't you ever say  _hello_ like a normal person?"

"Normal is for boring people," Santana dismisses with a wave of her hand.

"And God knows, you'll never be boring," Teresa comments wryly.

"Which is why you love me," Santana reminds her cockily.

Teresa only rolls her eyes before saying, "Hello, Quinn," with a friendly smile. Unlike Santana, she's opted for black pinstripe slacks and a matching vest over a silky white camisole that keeps her (barely) decent. "You look radiant tonight. Rachel is a very lucky woman," she adds with a wink.

Quinn offers her a grateful smile. "Thank you, Teresa." Then she turns Santana with a scowl. " _That's_  how greet a pregnant lady?"

"Like you'd even know what to do with me if I was that sappy," Santana challenges, and Quinn has to admit—she's entirely not wrong. Santana's softer side still takes her by surprise whenever she has the privilege of seeing it, and she's not sure how their friendship would even work without a healthy dose of occasional bitchiness from them both. Still—

"I wouldn't mind finding out."

Santana rolls her eyes while Teresa laughs, warning Quinn, "Just wait until that baby is born. She'll be a big, squishy puddle of goo."

Surprisingly—or maybe not—Santana doesn't deny it. "Yeah, whatever," she mutters, crossing her arms impatiently while her cheeks grow suspiciously ruddy. "Are you ready to go or what?" she demands, swiftly changing the subject. "If your ass isn't in your seat at least thirty minutes before curtain, I'll never hear the end of it."

"Tonight, I might actually be okay with ten." She's sure she'll need to hit the restroom at least once when they get there, and the less time she spends fidgeting in that seat tonight, the better.

Santana looks at her askance. "Who said I was talking about  _you_? I don't want your crazy wife blowing up my phone every sixty seconds, thinking you went into labor or something."

"Don't jinx me," Quinn warns, pointing at her in warning. "I have every intention of making it all the way to my due date this time."

Santana snickers. "In that case, maybe we should keep you home tonight. You don't have the best track record around stages and big musical numbers."

"Very funny, Santana," Quinn grouses, giving her shoulder a light push.

"On second thought," Santana reconsiders with a devilish gleam in her eyes, "it could be hella funny to escort you out of the auditorium halfway through the second act and watch daddy Diva have a meltdown on stage."

"I hate you," Quinn mutters, praying to God that doesn't actually happen

Rachel would probably have an aneurysm.

The three of them take the town car to the Cort Theatre, easily finding Kurt and Harry outside the box office. They only need to follow the sparkle of the sequins on the lapel of Kurt's silver jacket. A wide smile spreads over his face when he sees Quinn, taking her hands and kissing her cheeks. "Stunning as ever," he gushes. "I don't know how you manage to make pregnancy look this glamorous."

"What did Rachel bribe you with to say that?" she jokes.

He presses a hand over his heart. "You wound me, Quinn. I don't need any incentive to speak the truth. Some people are simply blessed with the ability to make  _everything_  look good, and you, my friend, are one of them." Quinn feels herself blush in pleasure at the compliment—or it might just be a hot flash. "If only our dear Rachel had been so lucky, high school would have been so much less painful for all of us."

Quinn pokes his chest warningly at the playful dis to her wife, even though she can't seem to stifle her giggle. Rachel  _had_ needed a bit of an intervention before she'd gotten the knack of making her style work  _for_  her instead of against her, but, "She's figured it out now."

"Beautifully," Kurt agrees with a smile. "Still…I hope this little one," he very briefly touches the top of her stomach, "inherits  _your_  fashion sense."

Laughing, they make their way into the theatre, where Quinn immediately needs to excuses herself to fight the line for the ladies' room. Two women let her go ahead of them when they notice just how pregnant she is, and only one of them asks to touch her belly. Quinn refrains from slapping her only because she's far too grateful to cut the line.

Kurt is waiting for her when she finally comes out, offering her his arm. "Shall we find our seats?"

"We shall," she confirms, slipping her hand around his biceps so he can escort down the aisle.

They make their way to the front row, where Harry and Santana and Teresa have already settled next to Leroy and Hiram. Shelby and Beth are at the end of the row, and Beth immediately stands up to greet her, giving her a welcoming hug. "Hi, Quinn," she chirps before pressing her hands to Quinn's belly in familiar greeting. "Hi, baby."

"Hi, Beth," Quinn coos, brushing back her firstborn's hair. "I'm glad you came."

She's glad they _both_  came, and she says as much, exchanging some small talk and a promise to catch up more during intermission. She shuffles over to her seat between Santana and Leroy, receiving an enthusiastic hug from him before she can sit. "Hello, darling, girl. How are you? How's my grandbaby?"

"We're wonderful," she promises, smiling as she lets him help her into her seat.

"You certainly look it, my dear," Hiram comments from his husband's other side, and Quinn thinks maybe it was worth it to come tonight just to collect all these compliments (false though they may be) to bolster her waning self-esteem.

But  _no_ —it would still be worth it just to watch her wife wow an audience one more time, and Rachel doesn't disappoint. The packed theatre goes quiet the moment the lights dim, and then the entire building belongs to Rachel Berry for the next two and a half hours. Quinn takes it all in one last time—well, for  _this_  show at least. She has no doubt in her mind that Rachel will be back on a Broadway stage at some point. It's where she's meant to be.

Quinn's dress feels tight despite the loose fabric, she's uncomfortable in her seat, and she really, really needs to pee again, but she refuses to miss a moment of Rachel singing her heart out as Iris for the very last time. There's a fifteen minute standing ovation when she takes her final bow and another after her costar, Heather, gives a touching farewell speech that leaves Quinn in tears—because her wife deserves every wonderful word that's being said about her.

Quinn couldn't be more proud, and she really couldn't be happier that Rachel is now completely free to be with her and their daughter for the next six months to a year with next to no outside distractions.

Well—once they deal with the distraction of Judy Fabray.

_xx_

Quinn's mother arrives on the twentieth of August to stay with them until after the baby is born. Her presence in New York has been a hotly debated topic, and they've gone back and forth a number of times on when they should invite her to come. Ultimately, Quinn's desire to have her mother nearby for such a momentous event in her life had won out—possibly over her better judgment.

Quinn feels a little guilty about it, especially after Rachel had agreed to ask her dads to hold off on rushing to the hospital until after the baby is born so they can have that first hour to bond with their daughter alone. It's also possible that Quinn isn't keen to be on full display in front of all of their friends and relations while she's sweaty and screaming and pushing a baby out of her. She thinks Hiram and Leroy probably understand.

It won't take them long to get here when it's finally time to meet their granddaughter. They're less than eighty miles outside of the city.

Judy is nearly eight hundred.

Her mother had been in the delivery room when Beth was born, despite their broken relationship at the time, and even though Quinn had still hated her a little bit for all the hell she'd let Quinn go through, she'd also been so relieved to have her there to help hold her together when she'd felt like she was being ripped in two—emotionally  _and_  physically.

Their relationship is so much better these days, even with the physical distance between them—or maybe  _because_  of it. They'd worked hard to get to this place where Quinn feels like she can actually rely on her mother and Judy actually seems proud of Quinn. She certainly seems excited to become a grandmother again, so when she'd offered to come to New York and help them get settled in with the baby, Quinn had found that she hadn't wanted to say  _no_.

So Judy flies in from Chicago on a prearranged date that's (hopefully) close enough to Quinn's due date for her to be present but still gives Rachel and Quinn a little breathing room to get her settled in the guest room. It's been less than two months since she was here for Quinn's baby shower, but that was only a three day visit, and Quinn is under no illusion that having her mother here for two or three weeks is going to be a picnic. But Judy can cook and clean and do laundry—in fact, her volunteering to do all of those things is ultimately what had tipped the scale in favor of inviting her—and Quinn is going to take full advantage of her mother's usefulness while she's here.

It means her focus can be on the baby.

And Rachel's focus can be on the both of them.

Judy's plane gets into LaGuardia just after four o'clock on Sunday afternoon. She insists that she can manage to take a taxi to the apartment on her own, and Quinn's weak protests die in vain when Judy refuses to allow Rachel to come get her. She doesn't think Quinn should be left alone in the apartment when she's so far along, and Rachel grins from ear-to-ear at having an unexpected ally share her own concerns—and also because she doesn't need to venture out to the hellhole that is LaGuardia.

It takes nearly two hours from the time Judy texts them to say that the plane has landed until she's letting them know she's outside their building, and Quinn really hopes it was traffic and not some crooked cabbie taking her mother the long way around for a jacked-up fare. She asks Rachel to at least go down and escort Judy up to the apartment, practically pushing her out the door when her wife attempts to protest.

"Absolutely nothing is going to happen to me in five minutes, Rachel," she insists.

Rachel frowns slightly. "You don't  _know_ that, Quinn." She quickly holds up her hands in surrender when she takes note of Quinn's clear annoyance. "But I'm going." She makes a show of grabbing her cellphone. "And I'm taking this with me…just in case." The expression on her face is part determination and part haughty superiority, and Quinn absolutely should not find it as sexy as she does when she's nearly thirty-nine weeks pregnant and her mother is downstairs, about to invade their privacy.

Once Rachel is out the door, Quinn surveys the apartment one last time, making sure it's up to her mother's high standards. She brushes invisible dust from the kitchen counter before waddling around to straighten the end chair at the breakfast bar until it's perfectly in line with the others. Then she heads into the living room to fluff the pillows on the couch and fix the blinds so there isn't too much afternoon sunlight streaming in.

It's only takes a few minutes for the doorknob to rattle, and she shuffles back to the foyer just in time to see her mother breeze into the apartment with a large travel bag slung over her shoulder. She's dressed neatly in casual tan slacks and a blue blouse, and Quinn suspects that she must have reapplied her makeup and fixed her hair in the airport restroom before finding a taxi, because she looks far too put together to have been traveling for hours.

"Hi, Mom," she greets, stepping towards the woman with a smile on her face. She really is happy to see her. She's not quite as happy to see the massive suitcase and smaller matching pilot case that Rachel is dragging in behind her. Her mother does  _not_  know the meaning of traveling light. Quinn had honestly been surprised that she'd only brought one suitcase in July.

"Oh, Quinnie," Judy coos, smiling widely as she cups Quinn's shoulders. "You look wonderful, honey," she murmurs, leaning in to kiss Quinn's cheek.

"I look like the Goodyear blimp," Quinn responds wryly, accepting her mother's kiss and the accompanying hug.

"Nonsense." Judy moves her hands to Quinn's belly, touching it affectionately. "I was much bigger when I was pregnant with you."

Quinn contemplates that with a small frown. She's not quite sure if she's supposed to take that as a compliment to her figure now or a commentary on how big she was as a baby.

Judy seems oblivious, letting go of Quinn's belly and drifting deeper into the apartment. Rachel trudges in behind her, tugging her suitcases across the floor. "I'll just take these to your room, Judy."

"Oh, wait, dear," Judy calls out, stopping Rachel's forward momentum with a gentle hand on her arm. She slides the bag she's carrying from her shoulder and offers it to Rachel. "This one too."

Rachel's lips purse for just a second—the only sign of her annoyance—before she pastes a wide (fake) smile on her face and reaches out to accept the bag. "Of course, Judy."

Quinn's mother smiles gratefully. "Thank you, Rachel."

Rachel hums in lieu of a verbal answer, juggling Judy's bags as she sets off toward the guest bedroom. Quinn watches her go with a sigh, making a mental note to thank her properly for being her mother's pack mule once they're alone—well, semi-alone with only a bathroom and two walls between their bedroom and the room her mother will be sleeping in.

"How was your flight?" Quinn asks, drifting towards the sofa.

"A little rough, but otherwise uneventful." Judy shadows her steps. "I had a lovely conversation with the woman in the next seat about knitting."

Quinn settles onto the sofa with a soft huff, looking up at her mother curiously. "You don't knit." She tries to imagine how that conversation could have gone. The only hobbies Judy Fabray has ever had are drinking and trying out new recipes—often at the same time and with occasionally interesting results.

Judy shrugs before gracefully sitting next to Quinn. "I might take it up." She touches Quinn's belly again, smiling tenderly. "I could knit booties for this little one."

Quinn bites back a laugh at the thought of her mother knitting. "Or could you just buy some."

Her mother doesn't bother to stifle her own giggle. "Yes, that does seem much easier, doesn't it?"

It's typical of her mother, and Quinn lets her own laughter bubble out. "I've missed you, Mom."

"I've missed you, too, honey," she says, patting Quinn's leg affectionately. "Oh, Frannie and TJ send their love," she adds an afterthought.

Quinn can believe that of her nephew, but, " _Frannie_  does?" She can't keep her skepticism from dripping off her tongue.

"Don't start, Quinn" her mother warns with a hint of disappointment. "She sent you a lovely gift for your baby shower last month."

A reluctant smile sneaks onto Quinn lips without her permission when she thinks about the collection of BabyLit books. "It _was_  surprisingly thoughtful."

"I think she really wants to make amends."

It's clear how hopeful Judy is that her two daughters might eventually start acting like sisters again. Quinn has her doubts that they'll ever manage to have the relationship that their mother wants for them, but maybe—just  _maybe_ —they can coexist a little more peacefully than they have in the past. They've even had a handful of perfectly civil (if somewhat stilted) conversations in the last year since Frannie had divorced that bastard ex-husband of hers.

"We'll see," she hedges, hearing Rachel's footsteps in the hallway and not wanting to prolong any conversations about Francine Fabray (no longer McGregor) when she has far happier subjects to focus on.

"We'll see about what?" Rachel asks, slipping into the chair adjacent to them. "What did I miss?"

Quinn's lips quirk up sardonically. "Frannie sending her love to us."

Rachel's eyes widen in surprise. "Oh. Well…I'm sure we…um," she looks at Quinn questioningly, "send it right back?"

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Sure, why not?"

It's her mother's surprised, "Oh…hello, Oliver," that has Quinn glancing down to see two green eyes darting back and forth between her and her mother. Judy is leaned forward on the sofa, smiling down at the cat as she strokes tentative fingers over his head. Oliver's tail swishes back and forth as he contemplates whether or not he wants to jump up on the sofa—or rather on her mother, since he's still generally avoiding the baby bump where Quinn's lap used to be.

Rachel notices him too, clapping her hands to get his attention. "Don't you even think about jumping up there, mister," she warns him sternly. With a meow of protest, he decides to jump on Rachel instead, immediately curling up in her lap with Quinn and Judy both in his line of sight. Rachel shakes her head and ruffles the fur on his head. "Oh, you think you're so cute."

He is, of course.

"Does he always listen to you?" Judy asks, looking amused by the exchange.

"Hardly ever," Rachel admits, continuing to scratch Oliver's head. "But he's still upset that he can't sit on Quinn's lap right now, so it's easier for me to distract him away from her."

Quinn's lips twist in regret. She misses Ollie's unreserved snuggles more than she wants to admit.

Judy nods in understanding. "What are you planning to do about him after the baby is born?"

Rachel's hand stills on Oliver's head, and Quinn feels her stomach roll. "What do you mean?" she asks her mother sharply, not liking the question at all.

Judy's eyes widen slightly in realization. "Just that introducing a new baby to a family pet can be a delicate endeavor," she clarifies quickly, glancing at Oliver who's staring back at her curiously. "I'm only wondering how you're intending to go about that. I didn't think to ask you on my last visit."

Quinn exhales in relief. "Oh…of course."

Rachel's hand resumes its rhythmic motion over Oliver's fur. "We've been letting him into the nursery under strict supervision for a few minutes every day to get him familiar with it," she explains with a confident smile, happy enough to let Judy know about their efforts. "Otherwise, it's been off limits." In some ways, it had been good that they'd moved into the new apartment when they did. Oliver still isn't entirely settled down from the upheaval, which sucks, but he's also never had the chance to claim the nursery as his own space. "We're hoping that will make him less likely to jump up on things he shouldn't when he is allowed in. We've also been playing recordings of babies crying and getting him used to the scent of baby powder, and I'm planning to introduce him to something that smells like the baby before we actually bring her home."

Judy listens attentively as Rachel lays out their plans. It's definitely something that she and Quinn have been reading up on in detail, and they've even spoken with their vet, Doctor Sweeney.

"Mmm. It sounds like you're prepared. I should have realized you would be. You're a very organized woman, Rachel." And there's a glimmer of affection in her mother's eyes that Quinn had once feared she'd never see directed at her wife. "But if the introduction doesn't go as well as you both hope," Judy hesitantly voices, her gaze moving from Rachel to Quinn, "you may need to make the hard decision."

Quinn's stomach rolls again. "We're not getting rid of Oliver." And Rachel gasps, pressing her hands over Oliver's ears as if he can understand. He's not amused by it, ducking way from her touch and jumping back onto the floor with a soft thud. He's obviously had enough human bonding for the moment.

"I know that would be your very last resort…"

" _No_ , Mother," Quinn snaps back, crossing her arms. It's an option that neither she nor Rachel particularly want to consider, even though the logical part of her brain knows there's a chance they may need to. But, "Oliver is the most laid back cat in the world." Except when it comes to Santana. "I know he'll get along with the baby."

And  _God_ —she hadn't even wanted to keep his stupid little fuzzy face when Rachel had first brought him home, but now she's practically in tears even thinking about being forced to give him up. She refuses to believe it will come to that.

Oliver  _adores_  Quinn. And he _adores_ Rachel. How could he  _not_ adore their daughter?

Judy nods, forcing a smile. "I trust your judgement on the matter, Quinn," she concedes soothingly. "But even so, I want you to know that I'd be happy to take Oliver back to Chicago if he doesn't get along with the baby."

He will. Quinn is determined. "No offense, Mom, but we'd give him to Teresa first."

The frown that Rachel has been wearing dissolves into a snicker. "Santana would  _love_  that."

"But at least we could visit him," Quinn reassures them both. Santana would just have to suck it up. Their apartment is the shortest distance for Quinn to see Ollie regularly, and Teresa is a cat lover.

Judy's smile brightens. "Well…see. You  _do_  have a backup plan. I'm glad."

But they  _won't_  be using it.

_xx_

Oliver doesn't seem to hold any grudges against Judy. He curls up on the sofa with her the next morning as she's sipping her coffee, eager for another set of hands to pet him. Quinn reminds herself that her mother wasn't trying to tell them to give their cat away—she's only concerned about how he might react to the baby. It's the same concern that she and Rachel have both harbored, but somehow, when voiced by her mother, it feels slightly judgmental.

Or maybe it's just her late pregnancy hormones magnifying every one of her emotions and spinning them out of control.

It's nice enough to have Judy cook them breakfast—a hardy batch of fluffy pancakes that makes Quinn's mouth water. She takes a second helping and doesn't even feel guilty about it.

She and Rachel spend some time catching up on Judy's life in Chicago—and Frannie's by extension. There's a man named George that Judy has been seeing casually. He's a widower with three grown children of his own, and they'd met at a Starbucks, of all places, when George had spilled his coffee on his shirt and Judy had just happened to have a Tide stick to offer him. It's weird to listen to her mom talk about dating, but she's been divorced for a long time now, and Quinn is happy to know she's not alone. And it's not like she's making plans to marry the guy.

The conversation eventually turns to baby preparations. Judy is eager to hear about their birth plan, so Quinn gives her a neatly typed copy to read. "Doctor Barnes already has a copy, and we have one in my hospital bag as well."

Judy nods distractedly as she reads it over. "It's very detailed."

"We thought it best to be thorough," Rachel confirms with a satisfied nod. It's probably a little bit  _too_  thorough, but there really couldn't have been any other outcome once Rachel had gotten her hands on it.

"Tell me more about this skin-to-skin contact," Judy prods, raising a curious eyebrow. "I didn't do anything like that with you or your sister."

Quinn isn't surprised. "It's really only become more prominent in the last fifteen years. There are still a lot of hospitals that aren't even doing it yet." Lima Memorial had been one of those. "But Doctor Barnes recommends it, and all of the Columbia associated hospitals practice it almost exclusively."

"When Quinn and I first learned about it, we knew it's what we wanted to do," Rachel interjects. "Research shows that skin-to-skin contact between mother and baby right after birth can improve the baby's heart and lung function and stabilize her body temperature. And of course, it allows mother and child to bond," she adds, smiling softly at Quinn.

Judy considers this, looking back to Quinn. "So you'll just…hold the baby on your naked chest for an hour?"

"Or Rachel can," Quinn answers, sharing a smile with her wife. She really wants them both to have the same opportunity to bond with their daughter. It's important to her. "The benefits are pretty much the same, no matter which one of us holds her. Both Doctor Barnes and the woman who ran the childbirth class we attended encouraged us to take turns." Her smile turns a bit droll. "But obviously, I'll be the one doing the breastfeeding."

" _That_ , I did do," Judy recalls with a chuckle. "I can't claim it was my favorite experience physically," she admits regretfully, "but I did enjoy it more with you than with Francine. She was a biter."

"That sounds like Frannie," Quinn comments on a laugh that soon spreads to both Rachel  _and_  Judy.

All-in-all, her mother seems fine with their birth plan. She doesn't even seem to mind that she'll be ejected to the waiting room as soon as the baby is delivered. "I just want to be there for you, Quinnie," she claims, and Quinn feels an overwhelming urge to hug her.

The urge is noticeably absent later in the day.

Judy spends the better part of the afternoon cleaning things that Quinn had believed were already clean, and Quinn is finding it more than a little irritating. She refuses to acknowledge that she'd done the same thing to Rachel last week. Rachel had cheerfully dismissed it as a part of Quinn's nesting instinct—Quinn doesn't know  _what_  her mother's excuse is.

"Things can never be too clean, Quinnie," Judy admonishes when Quinn tries to tell her to stop. "Especially with a baby around."

"She's not even here yet," Quinn grumbles, rubbing at her belly. Those pancakes from earlier are sitting heavily on her stomach now, and the uncomfortable feeling is spreading all the way to her back.

"But she will be soon," her mother chirps before flitting off to wipe down the cabinets in the dining room.

Rachel sinks down low into sofa next to Quinn with a distressed frown on her lips. "I thought we had everything clean enough," she whispers, casting a disheartened look at Quinn. "I should have climbed the step stool to reach the high shelves."

Quinn pats her leg reassuringly. "You did fine, sweetie. My mother is just insane." This is exactly why she'd freaked out last month over her mother's surprise visit. Luckily, that one hadn't been long enough for Judy to really settle in and investigate her surroundings, but they'll have no such luck this time around. Quinn really needs to think up some errands to send her mother on for the next week just to get her out of the apartment for a while, because she's not sure they'll have any paint left on the walls by the time Judy Fabray is through with the cleaning products. "We should have flown her out here to scrub down the place when we first moved in." It would have saved them a lot of trouble.

Rachel laughs a little at that, threading her fingers in between Quinn's. "She's making me a little dizzy."

"Me too," Quinn admits. It had been so nice earlier, just sitting together and talking. Judy had relayed stories about raising baby Quinn that had for once been more sweet than mortifying, and Quinn had actually started to feel even closer to her mother because of it. Now she feels exhausted just watching her. "Why don't we go take a nap?"

Rachel grins, nodding eagerly.

Her mother makes no objections when they quietly disappear from the living room. Quinn isn't sure she even notices.

As nice as it is to cuddle in bed with Rachel for a couple of hours, Quinn has a hard time getting comfortable. The ache in her lower back has been a near constant presence in the past couple of months, but today it feels more acute than it's ever been, and she reaches around to knead at the pulling sensation without conscious thought.

"You're back is really bothering you today, isn't it?" Rachel realizes with familiar concern. They're lying face-to-face on the mattress, and Rachel's palm is predictably curved over Quinn's belly.

Quinn sighs, nodding against the pillow. "It's the stress of having my mother here on top of the extra fifty pounds I'm lugging around."

"It's hardly fifty pounds, Quinn," Rachel rebukes matter-of-factly. "It's closer to thirty."

Quinn frowns, narrowing her eyes on her wife. "That doesn't make me feel better."

"I know what will," Rachel declares softly, patting Quinn's hip. "Roll over."

"You're asking an awful lot of me right now," Quinn quips wryly, eyebrow arched.

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Do you or do you not want me to give you a massage."

Sighing, Quinn scrapes her teeth across her lower lip. "That actually sounds like heaven."

With a smile, Rachel lifts her hand and makes a circular motion with it. "Then cooperate, please."

Laughing lightly, Quinn gathers up her strength and heaves herself over until her back is presented to Rachel, and then she groans in relief when Rachel's talented hands work their magic on her tight, aching muscles, employing some of the techniques they'd learned in their childbirth class. It eases some of the tension—at least for a little while.

Much later, Judy makes them dinner—a tasty vegetable stir-fry with some strips of chicken added into Quinn's helping so she can get her protein. Quinn's back is still acting up, and she still feels full from breakfast, but she dutifully eats her meal to appease her mother.

After cleaning up the kitchen, Judy finally— _finally!_ —sits down to relax for the evening, and she lets herself (too easily) be convinced to watch the film that Rachel selects. Quinn feels herself begin to nod off on Rachel's shoulder almost as soon as  _What's Up, Doc?_  begins to play. Damn her mother for liking old Barbra Streisand films.

The next morning begins in a similar fashion to the one before, with Judy up early in her silk pajamas and robe and offering to make breakfast for her daughter and daughter-in-law. The coffee pot is already percolating with a decaffeinated brew, and Judy is poised with a spatula, ready to take their orders almost as soon as they stumble out of bed. "Would you like pancakes again or maybe a nice omelet?"

"Actually, I think I just want some fruit this morning," Quinn decides, rubbing at her back as she sits stiffly at the breakfast bar. "I'm not really in the mood for a heavy meal again." She's feeling even more uncomfortable and irritable this morning than she was last night, and the idea of eating  _anything_  really doesn't appeal to her right now. If she wasn't pregnant, she'd probably just skip breakfast altogether today.

A deep frown mars Judy's makeup-free face. "Fruit might be fine for  _Rachel_ ," and Rachel tilts her head curiously at the disclaimer as she pours herself a cup of coffee, "but you should have something more substantial, Quinnie. You're eating for two," she reminds her needlessly. "I'll make you some oatmeal," she declares, setting aside the spatula and rooting around in the cabinets.

"That's not necessary, Mom."

Rachel silently points at the cabinet that Judy needs as she takes the first sip of her coffee, and Judy nods in gratitude before opening it. "Of course, it is," she argues, setting the container of oats on the counter while Rachel circles around to sit next to Quinn at the breakfast bar. "You need your fiber." She turns her attention to the refrigerator, pulling out the milk. She grabs a glass from the shelf almost as an afterthought and fills it up before placing it in front of Quinn. "Here. Drink it all. You need to get more calcium too." And then she's rummaging around for a pan to heat the milk for the oatmeal, muttering under her breath. "Really, I don't know how you've been surviving with the state your kitchen is in. You don't even have any vegetable oil."

Quinn grits her teeth at the insult to her kitchen, and her fingers curl around the edge of the breakfast bar. Rachel immediately notices her irritation and places a stilling hand over Quinn's. "Oh, that's my fault, Judy. I've been doing all of the cooking and grocery shopping for the last few weeks, and I'm admittedly not nearly as good as Quinn is at any of it."

It's not untrue—but it  _is_ complete and utter bullshit. They don't have any vegetable oil because Rachel won't buy it, preferring healthier options like fresh avocado or olive oil, and Quinn has gotten used to cooking with those instead.

Judy offers Rachel a sympathetic smile. "Oh…well, it's nice that you've been trying to take care of Quinn while she's pregnant, but it's a good thing I'm here now."

Rachel barely flinches at the slight to her caregiving abilities, instead patting Quinn's hand again, and Quinn recognizes it for the placating gesture it is, especially when Rachel sends her a tight smile. "It  _is_ ," she exclaims, exaggerating her agreeability. "We can  _both_  make sure that Quinn and our little star get all the tender loving care they need."

Translation: two overprotective coddlers to drive Quinn crazy.

Despite her advanced pregnancy, Quinn still manages to get off a well-placed kick to Rachel's shin. Rachel winces, biting back a grunt as she lets go of Quinn's hand, dropping her own down to poke Quinn's thigh in retaliation. Her mother notices none of it.

"Little star," Judy murmurs with a faint smile as she brings the milk to a boil over the stove. "That's very cute."

Rachel grins. "We think so."

Judy glances back over her shoulder. "Although I'm surprised the two of you haven't chosen an actual name for my granddaughter yet." And Quinn is almost certain she can hear a hint of censure in her mother's tone.

"We have a few very strong contenders," Rachel assures her.

"We're just waiting until she's born to see what fits her best," Quinn clarifies, hoping her mother understands.

Judy pours the oats into the milk and begins to stir them methodically. "Am I allowed to hear the potential choices?"

Quinn purses her lips, glancing over at Rachel. "We really haven't shared the list with anyone." They've just been telling everyone that they haven't agreed on anything yet—which has been mostly true.

"We don't want to let ourselves be swayed by outside influences," Rachel explains. And that's mostly true too, especially now that they have one or two—well,  _one_  specifically—that they're really drawn to. They don't want to take the chance of anyone ruining it for them.

Judy stares down at the oatmeal. "Oh. I see."

She doesn't. Quinn can tell. "You're upset."

Judy seems to shake off her mood, turning back to Quinn with a smile that's only a little bit pinched. "Don't be silly, honey. She's  _your_  child. It's your decision how you name her."

Quinn rubs methodically at her lower back, staring at her mother with a mild frown. "Yeah. It is."

"And I support you," Judy says before turning her attention back to her task.

The tension in Quinn's back only gets worse after breakfast. Thinking a shower might help, she excuses herself to the bathroom and stands under the spray for long minutes as the warm water from that wonderful massage head hits her lower back. She stares down at her distended belly, soaping the taut skin and talking quietly to her daughter about the crazy family she's about to be born into, and a smile touches her lips when the baby taps out an eager response.

The shower seems to help some, so Quinn dries her body and picks out a loose sundress with a pretty floral pattern, calling for Rachel to help her close the zipper in the back. As expected, Rachel comes running the moment Quinn calls her name, though she does roll her eyes slightly at the task. "I don't know why you didn't just pick out one that buttons in the front."

"Because I want to wear  _this_  one," Quinn insists petulantly, smoothing the material over her belly. "And the ones with the buttons aren't sitting right over my boobs anymore," she admits with a pout.

Rachel grins slyly. "I still enjoy them."

Quinn chuckles, reaching down to land a playful slap on her ass. "Go take a shower before my mother gets it in her mind to clean our bathroom today."

Rachel's eyes take on a calculating glint. "Do you think she would? You know how much I hate cleaning the bathroom."

Quinn laughs again, giving her wife a gentle push. "Just go."

When she walks out of the bedroom, it's to find her mother actually sitting down in the living room. She's browsing through one of Quinn's baby magazines and listening to the news on the television while she enjoys one last cup of coffee, so Quinn decides to take the opportunity to go through her emails, padding into her office. She loves that she actually has a real one now.

She can't quite seem to get comfortable in her chair, but she needs to make sure there aren't any important messages from either Aileen about her book release next month or from the studio that bought the rights to the series. It really does look like her first novel is going to become a movie in the very near future, and she's not entirely sure how she feels about that. Satisfied that there's nothing pressing, she takes to scrolling through her twitter feed—her professional one, not her private account—to see what her readers are saying about the rumors of a film in the works.

She's caught between amusement and annoyance at some of the comments when her mother lightly knocks on the half-open door, not waiting for an invitation before pushing it all the way open with a hesitant, "Quinnie?"

Quinn shuts her laptop and turns to face her mother, wincing slightly at the twinge in her lower back. "Yeah?"

"I've been thinking," her mother begins, and Quinn braces herself for the announcement of her intent to clean up the office, mentally preparing her argument for why that is completely unnecessary and a very, very bad idea. Instead, she hears, "Your nursery is adorable, but the rocking chair might work better in the other corner. That way, your changing table could be closer to the crib."

Quinn sucks in a breath, mentally counting to five before she responds. "We like it the way it is, Mom."

"You like it now because you're not actually using it," Judy counters with frustrating superiority. "Once the baby is here, you might find it more functional to rearrange a few things. Maybe after Rachel is dressed, we could do a little redecorating. Play around with the feng shui a bit."

Quinn can practically feel her blood pressure spike, and she grits her teeth. She can't believe her mother is suddenly criticizing their freaking nursery! "You know what...why don't I go get her right now?" she bites out, heaving herself up out of the chair.

"Oh, there's really no hurry, honey," Judy tells her, clearly reconsidering in the face of an irritated Quinn stalking towards her.

Quinn doesn't respond, just brushes past her mother and marches into the bedroom, resisting the urge to slam the door behind her. "Rachel…you need to get me out of this apartment right now," she grits out, struggling to keep her voice from rising.

Rachel is in the middle of tugging a pink t-shirt over her head, and she visibly jumps at Quinn's words before struggling to get her arms through the sleeves as quickly as possible. The material is twisted and damp from her hair when she finally gets it on, and her eyes are wide in panic. "Is something on fire?"

"Yeah. Me!" Quinn growls.

That only seems to increase Rachel's panic, and she rushes to Quinn's side, one hand finding her belly while the other cups her cheek. "Do you have a fever? Do we need to call an ambulance?" She shifts her palm to press against Quinn's forehead. "You do feel a little warm."

Quinn stares impassively at her wife. "I'm going to murder my mother."

Rachel drops her hands with a confused, "Huh?"

"She's driving me crazy."

The panicked expression clears completely, replaced by a look of understanding. "Oh." Rachel fiddles with her shirt again, straightening the material until it covers up the tan strip of skin that had been peeking out above the waistband of her denim shorts. "It hasn't even been two full days, Quinn."

Quinn groans, dragging a hand through her hair. "I  _know_. What was I  _thinking_ , inviting her to stay with us?"

Rachel offers her a sympathetic smile. "That she's your mother and it might be nice to have her here to help out." She's trying to be the calm, supportive spouse, Quinn knows. It's not typically an easy task for Rachel—the calm part anyway; she's a pro with the support—and Quinn loves her all the more for her effort.

"She wants to rearrange the nursery," Quinn informs her flatly.

Rachel's smile disappears. "What? Why?"

"Because she thinks she knows better than we do." Quinn reaches out to snag Rachel's hand, tugging her close. "Please, Rachel. Please get me out of here for a little while," she begs, pouting at her wife. "We can go for a walk or something."

Rachel pulls her lower lips between her teeth, looking extremely hesitant. "I don't know, Quinn. You were tossing and turning all night, and I know your back is still bothering you. It might be better for you to stay here and…"

"Don't you dare say it!" Quinn cuts her off with a frown, squeezing her hand sharply. She's really grown to  _hate_  people constantly telling her she needs to  _rest_.

Rachel licks her lips, clearly tramping down a smile. "Baby, I know you're feeling a little claustrophobic with your mother here, but wouldn't you rather stay in our nice, air-conditioned apartment? I can tell Judy we're napping, and we can hide out in our bedroom all day." She curls a hand around Quinn's hip, rubbing it enticingly through Quinn's dress. "I'll even give you another back massage."

Quinn leans into Rachel's touch, letting her eyes fall closed for moment. "That sounds nice," she admits before leveling her unhappy gaze on Rachel once again. "Except that I'll be able to hear my mother moving around the apartment, and I'll make you haul my pregnant ass out of bed every time I think she gets too close to the nursery so I can make sure she's not in there making unapproved changes."

"She could do that if we're not here, Quinn," Rachel warns her.

"But I won't know about it until we come back, and maybe by then I'll be too tired to care that you'll have to move everything back to the way  _we_  want it once she goes back to Chicago." Because it's  _their_ nursery, damn it, and they'd worked on it together with love, and it's  _perfect_. Quinn affects her best pout, resting her forehead against Rachel's. "Please, sweetheart." she breathes out, reaching up to twist a still damp strand of Rachel's hair around her finger. "You know I'm supposed to be walking anyway, and I didn't get any exercise in yesterday. If you really love me and want me and our little star to stay calm and happy, you'll get me away from my mother for an hour or two."

Rachel practically whimpers, squeezing Quinn's hip. "You're really not playing fair."

And Quinn doesn't feel the least bit sorry about it.

Rachel ultimately relents because she does, in fact, really love Quinn and want to make her happy, so she lets go of Quinn to finish getting dressed. She opts to pull her hair back into a ponytail and slips on a pair of sneakers before grabbing her phone from the charger. Once it's safely pocketed, she fishes her ID, a credit card, and some cash out of her wallet, shoving those into her other pocket before she's ready to go.

Quinn hesitates for a moment on the way out of the bedroom, quickly grabbing her own ID and dropping it into the pocket of her dress—just in case.

Her stomach clenches as she steps into the hallway, half-expecting to see her mother in the nursery already moving things around, but the door is still closed, and when she reaches the living room a few steps behind Rachel, she finds her mom back on the chair.

"Rachel, dear," Judy greets tentatively. "Did Quinn tell you my thoughts on the nursery?"

Rachel shoots a careful look at Quinn. "She mentioned it, yes."

Judy's gaze travels between them before settling on Rachel. "I don't really see the harm in merely seeing if a few minor changes might better utilize the space."

It's very carefully phrased to seem like a perfectly reasonable request, and Quinn  _knows_  that her mother is absolutely aware that she'd ticked off her hormonal daughter but is still attempting to appeal to Rachel's desire to appease her mother-in-law. She can see her wife struggling to think of exactly the right thing to say to satisfy them both, so Quinn comes to her rescue. "Actually, Rachel and I need to go out for a bit."

"You're going out  _now_?"

Quinn is certain that she isn't imagining the disapproving tone. "We are," she confirms, holding her ground. "We're going for a walk. Doctor Barnes recommended light exercise to help with my backaches, and I really think some fresh air and sunshine is just what I need right now."

The disapproval turns to concern almost instantly. "I don't know, Quinnie. If your back is bothering you, it might be best for you to stay home and rest."

"Oh, no," Rachel mutters under her breath, taking a noticeable step away from Quinn.

Quinn inhales sharply through her nose. She tells herself to count to five, but she only manages to make it to two. "I've  _been_  resting," she snaps, cutting an agitated hand through the air. "All I do anymore is  _rest_. Every time I turn around, some well-meaning moron is telling me I should sit down and get off my feet. I'm  _tired_  of resting. The baby wants some fresh air, and I'm giving it to her." She crosses her arms defiantly, daring her mother to object, while Rachel slides an arm around her back to rub circles there in an attempt to calm her down.

Judy regards her with a dumbstruck expression before she nods very slowly. "Whatever you think is best, dear."

Quinn practically drags Rachel out of the apartment after that, and it isn't until they're actually outside that Quinn begins to feel calm again. The tension in her back is radiating up her spine and into her belly, and it's a relief just to be  _moving_.

"So…where exactly are we going?" Rachel asks, keeping a protective hand on Quinn's back as she matches her measured stride along the sidewalk—taking them farther and farther away from their building.

Quinn considers this for a moment, having not had a particular destination in mind other than  _away from her mother_ , but now that she's out here with the sun on her face and the morning breeze teasing through her hair, she thinks she just wants to enjoy the gorgeous summer day for a little while. "The park," she decides, realizing that they're already conveniently headed in that direction.

Rachel glances at her with mild concern. "Are you sure you want to walk that far?"

"It's not  _that_  far." It's less than a mile, and even with Quinn's slower pace these days, it won't take them more than twenty minutes to get there. "I don't intend to hike through the whole park." Maybe just walk through the ramble for bit—spend twenty or thirty minutes surrounded by the peaceful beauty of trees and grass and flowers—before heading back to deal with her mother's sudden interest in redecorating. She needs at least an hour away from the woman to recharge her tolerance level. She sends a sweet smile to Rachel as she reaches back to find her hand, gently pulling it down so she can tangle their fingers together. "I just want a little time alone with you."

Rachel grins. "Me and four million other people."

"It's better than being alone with my mother."

Rachel gives her hand a reassuring squeeze as they walk together. "I know you're irritated with her right now," she begins gently, "with good reason," she hastily adds once she catches sight of Quinn's expression. "She really shouldn't be critiquing our nursery," she agrees with a frown, shaking her head.

"Or monitoring my diet," Quinn gripes, rubbing at her belly. "Or telling us to get rid of our cat!"

"In fairness to Judy, she didn't actually tell us to get rid of Oliver," Rachel points out. "I think she was just concerned about what we'll do if he and the baby don't get along. We've been a little concerned about that too," she reminds Quinn with a pointed look.

"But that's  _our_ concern," Quinn insists petulantly, not willing to admit that Rachel is right.

"I thought you were happy your mother is taking an active interest your pregnancy this time."

"I am," Quinn admits with a sigh. "I'm just happier about it when she's doing it from Chicago." When Quinn can invent an excuse to hang up early on conversations she doesn't want to have. "Or, you know, when we're shopping for cute baby things together."

Rachel laughs, shaking her head. "Ah…you want the spoiling without the mothering."

Quinn won't deny that she enjoys letting her mother buy her things, but, "She's mothering me more now than she did when I was living with her." Quinn had been forced to grow up really fast living in the Fabray house—and then getting kicked out of it. Her mother hadn't exactly done a great job with the motherly care and concern back then, so yeah—it irks Quinn more than a little that she's dishing out so much of it now that Quinn is a grown woman who is fully capable of taking care of herself and her wife and her soon-to-be-born baby.

"She's trying to make up for all her mistakes," Rachel points out gently.

"I know that, but she's still  _Judy Fabray_ , and she can be so," Quinn cuts an agitated hand through the air, barely missing a fellow pedestrian, " _irritating_."

"I know, baby," Rachel soothes, reaching across their bodies with her free hand to pat Quinn's arm. "But she clearly loves you and has your best interests at heart." Quinn knows that too, but hearing Rachel say it calms her in a way she can't define. "I think I'd honestly love it if Shelby was trying that hard with me."

Quinn's belly twists in sympathy. "She is trying though. I mean, she gave us the quilt."

Rachel nods. "She did."

"And she came over for brunch."

"So Beth could visit and see the new apartment," Rachel clarifies, sounding resigned but not upset.

"Because  _you_  asked her to come, Rachel," Quinn corrects stubbornly. "Just like she came to the Tonys because you invited her. And to our baby shower. And she wanted to be at your last show."

It's Rachel's turn to sigh. "So she's trying a little bit," she concedes, "but…it's different. She's trying to be a friend…and a potential grandmother to our baby," she considers, thoughtfully, "but she's not trying to be my  _mom_ ," she concludes with a small shrug. "I only need to look at you and Judy to know the difference."

There's an odd mix of envy and gratification on Rachel's face, like her emotions can't quite decide whether they're more focused on herself or Quinn right now, and Quinn attempts to see things from Rachel's perspective. It doesn't take her long at all to realize that her wife is seeing a mother and daughter who love each other despite their mutual flaws. "Well, now I feel like a bitch," she jokes, though there's more than a little truth in it.

Rachel's expression softens into amusement. "You're not. You're just pregnant."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "What will I do when I can't blame it on baby hormones anymore?"

"I don't know," Rachel murmurs, her amusement only growing, and she playfully bumps her shoulder against Quinn's. "What did you blame it on before?"

Quinn squeaks indignantly, even though she'd known that was coming, and she lets go of Rachel's hand to poke at her hip. "My incredibly frustrating wife."

"Excuse me," Rachel exclaims, feigning outrage while barely suppressing her laughter. " _Who_  is out here walking with you against her better judgement?"

Grinning unabashedly, Quinn snatches Rachel's hand back again. "My incredibly  _amazing_  wife," she amends happily, leaning into Rachel's side.

Pleased with the answer, Rachel lifts their joined hands and presses a kiss to the back of Quinn's. "That's better."

Quinn squeezes Rachel's hand in gratitude. "Thanks, Rach. I really needed this today."

"Whatever you need, baby," Rachel promises sweetly. "Just let me know when you're ready to go back home."

"I will," Quinn promises, watching the park come into view just ahead of them, "but not yet. It's such a beautiful day."

And it really is.

The sound of city traffic fades into the distance with every step they take into the park, replaced by the chirping of the birds in the trees and the laughter of children enjoying the last days of summer before they're back to school. It's like stepping into a different world, and Quinn swears the air even smells cleaner here. She forgets all about her mother back at the apartment and her worries about Ollie and the baby and the extra thirty pounds that she's afraid she'll never lose.

The only things she doesn't forget about are the little spasms in her back. They pull and throb in inconsistent waves, feeling better one moment and worse the next, and she reaches back from time-to-time to knead at one spot only to find the sensation jumping to somewhere else. She can't quite seem to pin it down.

It's not unbearable. It's a chronic annoyance that she's been dealing with since she was eighteen with varying degrees of aggravation, and she'd gone into this pregnancy fully prepared for it to take an added toll on her body. It's a price she's been more than willing to pay, so she ignores the discomfort and focuses on the walk and her wife and the wonderful future ahead of them.

They're walking along a shaded path in the ramble when she feels it—a faint pressure low in her belly, like a bubble popping, followed immediately by an unpleasant spurt of wetness that soaks through her underwear and trickles down her inner thighs—and her heart lurches into her throat. Her hand flies to her belly, and her steps slow as she frantically glances down at her feet, immediately noticing the clear liquid trail running down to her ankle.

She'd experienced this before.

She's experienced  _all_  of this before, and she feels like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

She stops walking all-together, clinging to her wife's hand.

"Rachel," she calls out, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible so  _Rachel_  will stay as calm as possible—because Quinn really needs her to be calm right now. "My water just broke."

So much for making it to her due date.


	7. Already Know It

"My water just broke."

Rachel freezes mid step while her brain attempts to make sense of the words that her ears have just heard, and her gaze drops down to Quinn's fingertips where they're barely clinging to hers before darting to Quinn's belly and finally flying up to meet anxious hazel eyes. "No," she denies in what she feels is a reasonably calm voice. "Your water can't break now, Quinn, because that would mean you're in labor, and you can't be in labor until next week. It's only August twenty-second. You're not due until the twenty-ninth."

A mild grimace mars her wife's face, and she distractedly rubs at her lower back—the same way she's been doing all morning. "Tell that to your daughter, because I'm pretty sure she's decided to make her grand entrance today."

"No… _you_  tell her," Rachel begs, a note of frantic hysteria creeping into her voice as she gestures to Quinn's belly. "She's inside of you. You're the one with all the power in this situation!"

Quinn barks out a derisive laugh. "Were you paying attention at all in our childbirth classes? When it's time, it's time, and," she stops abruptly, hissing in a sharp breath as she grabs onto Rachel's hand and squeezes hard.

The sudden pain etched onto Quinn's face is unmistakable—even without the nails digging into Rachel's skin. "Oh, sweet Barbra…it's time," she whispers fearfully, her stomach bottoming out completely before it begins to swirl with nausea.

Quinn nods, exhaling slowly as her grip slackens. "It's time."

"But we're in the park!" Rachel exclaims, panic setting in hard. "I didn't make a contingency plan for the park, Quinn! I had one for the grocery store and the theatre and any city sidewalk within a one mile radius of our building, but not the park!" Ideally, of course, they would be at home, in their apartment, with an elevator and a doorman to help them and curbside pickup and a perfectly mapped out route to the hospital. They have none of those things in the middle of the park! "I need to call an ambulance," she realizes, moving to fumble for her phone with trembling hands, only to have Quinn's hand close over hers.

"I don't need an ambulance, Rachel," she insists with frustrating calmness. "We just need to find a taxi and call Doctor Barnes. She might not even want me to go to the hospital right away."

 _Is she insane?_   "You just had a contraction!"

"A mild one," Quinn argues. "I think we still have some time before I'm in active labor."

Rachel's eyes narrow suspiciously on her wife. She had, in fact, been paying attention in those childbirth classes, so she doesn't fail to notice Quinn's deliberate phrasing. "And just how long have you been in  _early_  labor?"

A flash of guilt colors Quinn's expression. "I'm not sure," she admits, glancing away with a mild frown. "I thought my backache was just a backache, but it has seemed a little sharper than it had been…and a little less specific to any one spot."

Rachel's eyes widen. "Your back was bothering you yesterday, Quinn!" She points at Quinn in accusation. "You promised me it was just stress."

She should have known better than to trust Quinn's judgment on recognizing potential contractions. The stubborn woman hadn't even realized she was in labor with Beth until her water had broken all over the Carmel High backstage area. She'd sworn up and down that she knew what to expect this time, but here they are! Caught unaware in the park! Rachel should have stood her ground this morning and insisted that Quinn stay home and rest rather than go out on this ill-advised walk—but  _no_ , Quinn had to bat those big, glittering eyes at her and hit her with that pretty pout and those saccharine-coated pleas to get her away from Judy for an hour or two, and Rachel had folded like lawn chair with a broken joint.

"It's not like that wasn't a factor," Quinn grumbles, rubbing at her belly.

"Are you having another contraction?" Rachel asks fretfully, placing her own palm on the other side of Quinn's belly as if that will somehow ease her discomfort.

"No," Quinn assures her with a faint smile. "But I would like to get that taxi now, Rachel. I'm a little," she blushes, gesturing down as she whispers, "wet."

A sympathetic flush heats Rachel's cheeks as she glances down. Luckily, Quinn had chosen to wear a floral sundress today in an attempt to stay cool in the summer heat, so her broken water isn't really all that noticeable through the pattern on the dress, but Rachel can only imagine that it's still incredibly uncomfortable for her. Taking a deep breath—or maybe three—Rachel attempts to calm her racing heart before she reaches for Quinn's hand.

"Okay," she murmurs, nodding as she attempts a reassuring smile.  _I hope it's reassuring_ , she thinks. "Okay. We can do this." She nods again. "We just need to walk out of the park and…" That requires walking—and even though her own legs feel like Jello right now, her bigger concern is Quinn. " _Can_  we do this?" she asks worriedly. "Because you need to let me know if you don't think you can make it out of the park." It hadn't actually taken all that long for Beth to be born after Quinn's water had broken the last time—and didn't Rachel just decide that she shouldn't trust Quinn's judgement when it comes to contractions? "I think we passed a maintenance person in a golf cart back there," she recalls, desperately looking all around them. "I can track him down and demand that he drive us out to Central Park West. Or directly to the hospital," she amends when she notices that her wife is beginning to look a little bit pale and sweaty.

Quinn laughs weakly, squeezing her hand. "I think I can manage to walk, Rach."

Rachel purses her lips, not entirely convinced, but the more time they waste here, the more likely it is that something could go horribly awry—well, more awry than it already is because they're in the damn park! "Okay. We should do that then. We should walk," she resolves, letting go of Quinn's hand so she can slip a supportive arm around her back and urge her forward. "Just hold on to me and we'll walk…nice and slow."

"Rach," Quinn attempts to interject.

"No, not slow," Rachel immediately reconsiders. "Quickly. We'll walk quickly but carefully while I call Doctor Barnes and you…you just breathe and…and start timing your contractions…and oh, my God," she gasps, nearly tripping over her own feet as she gazes at Quinn in horror. "We forgot to see what time you had the last one. How are we supposed to time them? What do I tell Doctor Barnes?"

Quinn looks entirely too amused for such a dire situation as she extricates herself from Rachel's firm grip, cupping her shoulders. "Rachel, sweetheart. I think you're the one who needs to breathe. We'll be fine," she promises. "Once we start walking in the right direction," she points out mildly, gently turning Rachel around to face the other way.

"I knew that," Rachel mumbles, embarrassed. Her heart is still racing faster than her mind and the air feels entirely too hot and thick around her, but she needs to keep it together for Quinn's sake.

She resolutely wraps her arm around Quinn again and marches them (carefully!) out of the ramble while she digs her phone from the back pocket of her shorts and begins to rapidly scroll through her contacts for their doctor's number, slamming the call button with her thumb the moment she finds it. They're not far from the main path when the call finally connects with the familiar,  _"Thank you for calling Doctor Barnes's office. Margo speaking. How may I help you?"_

"Hello. This is Rachel Fabray and my wife is in labor. I need to speak with Doctor Barnes right now."

" _She's with a patient at the moment. Can you tell me how far apart your wife's contractions are?"_

"I don't know how far apart they are because we haven't been able to time them yet," Rachel informs her with a pointed look at Quinn, who only shakes her head, "but she's been having back pain since last night and her water just broke…and then she had a contraction." And even as she says it, Quinn's steps falter and her body stiffens with a pained gasp. It only lasts for a few seconds, but it's enough to make Rachel feel like she wants to throw up. "And she just had another one," she relays fearfully, though she actually remembers to glance at the clock on her phone this time. She still doesn't know if it's been five minutes or ten or fifteen, but Quinn's assertion that they still have time before they need to worry is suddenly looking like complete and utter bullshit.

" _Were you able to time that one?"_ the nurse asks calmly.

"Not exactly," Rachel chokes out. "Maybe ten minutes?" she guesses.

" _Is your wife having any problems otherwise? Any bleeding? Nausea or dizziness?"_

"I…I don't know," Rachel confesses before sending a worried look to Quinn. "She…she wants to know if…if you feel sick or…or if you're bleeding." Her voice cracks over the words as she's forced to consider all of the potential complications that she hadn't remembered to think about in light of the unexpected complication of Quinn going into labor in the park!

"Let me talk to her," Quinn urges, sounding a little breathless as she reaches for the phone. Rachel lets her pry it away, silently conceding that Quinn is probably better able to answer whatever questions the nurse might have about her labor.

"Hi. This is Quinn Fabray." There's a pause then, ostensibly where the nurse repeats her questions, before Quinn says, "No, no bleeding," and Rachel wonders how she can be sure. "Just two contractions so far." There's another pause, and then, "Less than thirty seconds." Rachel really should have put the phone on speaker before handing it over to Quinn, because only hearing one side of this conversation is making her crazy. "The back pain has felt a little like cramping. It's been on and off since maybe two o'clock yesterday afternoon." She glances at Rachel with a mild frown. "No, I'd say ten minutes is a pretty fair guess. We didn't check the time on the first one, but it happened maybe a minute or two after my water broke." Her pale cheeks pinken a bit and she ducks her head. "More of a trickle," she says quietly before nodding. "Okay. We'll hold."

"She put you on hold!" Rachel screeches, aghast.

Quinn reaches out to snag Rachel's flailing hand, holding it tightly. "Doctor Barnes is finishing up with her patient. Margo said she thinks we can probably wait until the contractions are five minutes apart to go to the hospital, but she's checking with the doctor to make sure."

"I don't think we should wait, Quinn. Ten minutes was just a rough estimate, and you know how quickly things can escalate. Our daughter will not be born in the backseat of a taxi cab!" Rachel would much rather they be at the hospital with hours to spare than pulled over on the side of the road, delivering their daughter in front of a taxi driver and any motorist who happens to be driving past. "I don't want our names all over the headlines for  _that_!"

Quinn shakes her head. "The hospital probably won't even admit me until I'm in active labor. I'm not driving all the way there just to be sent home, Rachel," she snaps irritably.

Rachel frowns, wishing (not for the first time) that Doctor Barnes had privileges at Mount Sinai instead of New York-Presbyterian. Their birth center is at the Columbia Medical Center, all the way up in Washington Heights. The distance (and the traffic they have to battle to get there) had made Rachel nervous when they'd been living in Murray Hill, and it's only slightly less daunting now that they've moved a little closer.

"You know it's going to take at least twenty minutes to get there, and that's on a good traffic day. Just look what's already happened in the last ten," she points out, gesturing to Quinn's belly.

"You're being…" Quinn cuts herself off abruptly, pressing the phone closer to her ear. "Yes, hello, Doctor Barnes." And once again, Rachel is forced to listen to a one-sided conversation. "Yes, about fifteen minutes ago. Still just the two. We'll be better about timing them now. The first one kind of took us by surprise." Rachel huffs at that, shaking her head. They wouldn't have been taken by surprise at all if Quinn had admitted that she was in early labor instead of dragging them out for a walk in the park. "Um…I haven't really been able to check very well…we're not actually at home right now…but it seems pretty clear."

"What's she saying?" Rachel wants to know, tugging at Quinn's hand, but Quinn only shakes her head as she continues to concentrate on whatever their doctor is telling her.

"Yes. Yes, I understand," she says with a tiny frown. "It's better to be safe. We'll go to the hospital now."

"Yes!" Rachel shouts, pumping her fist in vindication. "Thank you, Doctor Barnes," she calls out, loudly enough for the woman to hear.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Yes, thank you."

The moment she disconnects the call, Rachel snatches her phone back. "I  _told_  you we should go directly to the hospital."

"It's only because my water broke and she wants to start me on antibiotics as a precaution," Quinn explains sullenly, and it's clear from her tone that she was hoping their doctor would give her permission to hold off a little longer, even before she says, "Otherwise, I could have waited until the contractions are five minutes apart."

Why Quinn would prefer to wait is beyond Rachel's comprehension. She supposes she can understand the reluctance to wait around in the hospital for hours before she absolutely needs to—though the birth center is actually quite comfortably appointed—but it's not like they're going early just to hang out in the delivery room for kicks. Her water broke! In the park!

"All I'm hearing is that I was right."

Quinn's expression darkens. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just use my being in labor with  _your_  baby as a  _told-you-so_ , Rachel."

"I…" When that familiar eyebrow inches up in censure, Rachel immediately reconsiders the feeble defense that she was about to mount. "Would appreciate that very much."

Quinn's hard expression melts into a faint smile, and she nods. "Now get me to a taxi. Apparently we need to go to the ho… _oh_!"

The grip on Rachel's hand tightens like a vice as Quinn curls forward with a pained groan, pressing her free hand to her belly while her face twists in agony.

"Shit," Rachel hisses, watching her wife helplessly even as her arm is jerked forward and down with the force of Quinn's pull on her. "Shit, shit, shit," she mutters, barely remembering to glance at her phone to check the time. "Just breathe, baby," she urges shakily while she desperately tries to do the math despite the sympathy pain that Quinn seems determined to make real by cutting off the circulation in her hand. "That's only seven minutes, Quinn! I knew ten was a bad estimate."

"Shut up, Rachel," Quinn grits out between clenched teeth, squeezing her hand impossibly tighter before finally letting her grip slacken on a shaky exhale.

"That one was worse, wasn't it?" Rachel asks uneasily.

"Little bit," Quinn breathlessly confirms, slowly uncurling from her hunched over position.

If that's how bad Quinn's contractions are already, Rachel isn't sure how she's going to handle seeing Quinn in active labor. "We need a taxi. I'm calling for one." She lifts the phone, intent on opening up the curb app to see how close the nearest vacant car is to them, but then she hesitates, glancing to Quinn in concern. "Can you still make it out to the street? Or do I need to steal a bicycle?" She eyes the family of three that's leisurely pedaling down the path adjacent to them. She thinks she can probably take out the boy without too much of a struggle. He can't be more than twelve. She'd only need to figure out how to securely position Quinn on the handlebars. "Or maybe I should throw myself in the path of a horse and carriage?" she considers instead. There's always one clopping through the park somewhere, and it would be safer for Quinn. "At least the horse would be abused for a good cause this time."

Quinn actually laughs at that, weak though it is. "No…I can make it," she promises.

Despite the potent mix of fear and excitement that's currently wracking her body with nervous tension, Rachel somehow manages to keep a supportive arm around Quinn and walk them closer to the exit of the park while she calls for a taxi, thankful that she remembered to shove some cash and her debit card into the pocket of her shorts along with her ID before they'd left the apartment. She briefly considers ordering an Uber instead, but she suspects that those drivers would be even less equipped to deal with a backseat baby delivery than a New York cabbie, and at least she knows the taxi seats are made of antibacterial vinyl.

They have to pause again, right after they cross over West Drive, to ride out another of Quinn's contractions. "Still seven minutes," Rachel notes, unduly relieved that they don't seem to be coming any closer together just yet.

"See…plenty of time," Quinn attempts to assure her with a wan smile.

Rachel eyes her worriedly. "Be honest with me, Quinn. Do we have more or less time than it took you to deliver Beth?"

Quinn's brows furrow as she gazes at Rachel in mild irritation. "How am I supposed to know that, Rachel? It's not like this pregnancy is a carbon copy of my first one."

"Well, your labor certainly seems to be happening the same way." Rachel mutters with a frown. Really—what are the odds that Quinn's water would break before she started having contractions  _again_? It's supposed to be something that only happens on television and in movies for dramatic effect, but it's somehow happened to Quinn  _twice_.

Quinn's eyes narrow. "You know what? You're right," she concedes in that far too pleasant tone that Rachel recognizes all too well. "Let me just use my  _perfect_ photographic memory to instantly recall the exact timeline from getting rushed to the hospital at sixteen in  _excruciating_  pain on a  _school bus_  surrounded by the mother that I hadn't seen in months and our entire glee club…minus  _you_ ," she makes a point to remind Rachel, "in various stages of freaking-the-hell out until the moment I actually pushed an eight pound  _human_  out of me…all so I can somehow magically predict the exact moment I'll be giving birth to  _this_  baby since apparently  _you_ need to know if we have enough time to take the scenic route to the hospital."

"Don't be ridiculous, Quinn. We're taking the Henry Hudson regardless," Rachel insists, dismissing the rest Quinn's untimely sarcasm as the pain-induced overreaction that it so clearly is. "I'd just like to be reassured that you won't be giving birth in the back of the taxi while we're taking it."

"You mean the taxi we're not currently getting any closer to being in because you insist on asking asinine questions to your wife who's  _in labor_?"

The barb hits its intended target, sinking into the pit of Rachel's stomach. "Point taken."

Quinn draws in a shaky breath. "Can we go now?"

The tiny trace of anxiety in that single question has Rachel jerking back into action. "Yes. Yes…absolutely. We're going." Flattening her palm over Quinn's lower back, she gives the spot a reassuring rub as they begin to walk up the sidewalk of West 77th Street where it exits the park. As nice as it is to have West Drive closed to traffic in favor of the pedestrians, Rachel really wishes they could have had a taxi pick them up inside the park, but, "The driver is supposed to pick us up at this cross street." She just hopes he's already waiting there for them.

"Maybe we could stop at the apartment on the way," Quinn suggests.

Rachel nearly trips over her next step. "Are you  _trying_  to give birth in the taxi?" she practically screeches.

"I'm not giving birth in the damn taxi, Rachel," Quinn vows, rolling her eyes. "The apartment is on the way to the hospital, and Mom is there…and so is my hospital bag."

"Judy can bring it with her in her own taxi," Rachel dismisses—a thread of rationality finally beginning to weave through her apprehension and pull her back together. She can  _do this_. She can be the strong, dependable,  _calm_  partner that Quinn needs her to be. "We'll call her on the way. We're not taking  _any_  unnecessary risks with you or our baby."

Quinn doesn't immediately respond to that. She merely nods and continues to walk out of the park at Rachel's side. For her part, Rachel is too preoccupied with making sure that neither of them trips over anything while simultaneously glancing over to check on Quinn between every step to actually attempt any kind of conversation. It's only right before they reach the street that Quinn's quiet voice breaks the silence. "I'm sorry I screwed up your birth plan by dragging you to the park."

She actually sounds remorseful about it—and maybe a little scared—which only inflames Rachel's protective instincts all the more. "Oh, baby, you didn't," she lies, rubbing her wife's back. She receives a watered down version of  _the eyebrow_  for her effort. "Okay, you did," she admits with a shrug, "but I recognize that certain aspects of my plan were always going to be out of our control." Like the exact moment that Quinn went into labor and their location at the time. "In any case, we're back on track now," she promises, glancing toward the street. "See…there's the taxi," she points out, hoping that the boxy, yellow Nissan parked at the curb is, in fact, meant for them. If it isn't, she's not above hijacking it.

"This isn't exactly the way I envisioned this going either," Quinn acknowledges as they head for the car. "This time was supposed to be less dramatic."

Rachel finds herself chuckling at that. "I don't know why. I mean, this is  _our_  daughter we're talking about, Quinn. Drama is in her blood."

A tremulous smile curves Quinn's lips as she looks at Rachel. "I can't wait to meet her."

And it won't be long before she does—before  _they_  do. Rachel's steps falter again when the reality of that fully settles over her. They're just hours away from finally meeting their daughter in the flesh. "Neither can I," she murmurs softly, returning Quinn's smile with one of her own—at least until Quinn groans again, squeezing her eyes shut as another contraction overtakes her. A quick glance at her phone tells Rachel that they're still just about seven minutes apart. "Breathe, baby," she urges while frantically gesturing to the taxi with the hand that isn't attempting to comfort her wife.

"Like I'm not," Quinn growls through her contraction, digging her fingers into Rachel's hip in a way she very definitely feels.

Rachel hisses in discomfort but manages to bite back the yelp that wants to escape. She knows what Quinn is experiencing right now is so much worse. "Hey…hey you! Driver person," she shouts, stretching as far as she can without letting go of Quinn completely to tap on the back window of the car that's parked just out of their reach. "A little help would be greatly appreciated."

Surprisingly enough, the driver's door opens just as Quinn's pain begins to diminish again. When he looks over at them across the roof of the car, his eyes widen almost comically. "Oh, sweet Caroline," he exclaims with wide eyes. "Is she having that baby right now?"

"No!" they both insist in stereo. "But we do need you to take us to Columbia Medical Center as quickly as possible," Rachel informs him. "Could you help me get her into the car please?"

"Yes, ma'am," he's quick to agree as he rushes around the car, still looking slightly panicked. "Ladies with babies get the full service."

"I can manage,' Quinn protests weakly.

"Don't be stubborn," Rachel chastises, nodding gratefully to the driver when he opens the door and reaches out a calloused hand to offer Quinn. "Just let the nice gentleman help you inside."

Quinn smiles apologetically at the driver, reluctantly taking his offered hand. "Thank you. And I'm sorry."

His dark brows furrow in confusion. "No need to apologize, miss."

"It's preemptive," Quinn informs him as she struggles to get into the taxi as gingerly as possible for reasons that Rachel suspects Quinn won't want to verbalize in front of their driver. "You'll probably be hearing a lot of screaming on the way to the hospital…but I'll try to keep my wife quiet."

"Very funny, Quinn," Rachel mutters as she carefully tucks the edges of Quinn's dress onto the seat. "Don't mind her," she instructs the driver. "She's delirious from the pain."

Quinn huffs out a breath, sagging into the seat. It's clear from her posture just how tired she feels from the few contractions that she's already had and the walk to the street—and the God-knows-how-many hours of mild labor that she'd failed to mention before dragging them off to the park! "Just get in the car, Rachel."

Biting into her lip, Rachel spares another look of gratitude for their driver before scurrying around to the other side of the car and sliding in. Her hand immediately seeks out Quinn's so she can tangle their fingers together, needing the small connection right now as much as she suspects Quinn does. Their driver jumps back into the car almost as quickly as Rachel and, with the honk of an impatient horn, swiftly merges them into the traffic on Central Park West.

"I'll have you there in a flash," he assures them.

"A  _safe_  flash," Rachel demands, staring him down through the rearview mirror. "And take the Henry Hudson. We don't have time to hit every traffic light on the way there."

"We do have  _some_  time," Quinn interjects, glancing at the driver. "So don't feel like you need to  _run_  any of those lights."

"Just don't slow down for the yellow ones."

Rachel ignores Quinn's huff of exasperation, pleased when driver dutifully recites, "Fast but safe. I can do that," before running through one of those yellow lights in his haste to make the left turn that will get them off of Central Park West.

Satisfied that they're finally en route to the hospital, Rachel tears her eyes away from the driver and lets her gaze rake over her wife's face. There's a light sheen of perspiration glistening on her skin from a combination of the late morning humidity and the onset of labor, and her expression is a fascinating mix of irritation and excitement with just a trace of embarrassment mixed in. Rachel gently squeezes her hand in silent support. "We'll be there soon," she vows softly, hoping the city traffic doesn't make a liar out of her. "Are you okay? Anymore contractions?"

"I think you'd have noticed if there was," Quinn observes wryly before offering a reassuring smile—though it looks a little weak around the edges to Rachel. "Don't worry. We're fine."

It's Rachel's turn to huff in mild exasperation. "Quinn, asking me not to worry about you and our unborn daughter is like asking me not to  _breathe_. It's an impossible task that would quite literally  _kill_  me."

"That's not hyperbolic at all," Quinn drawls with a faint smirk.

Rachel's eyes narrow suspiciously. "Is nitpicking my choice of vocabulary some secret Fabray technique that you're employing to manage your labor pains? Because I'm not sure I approve."

Quinn rolls her eyes at that. "Just wait until those contractions are less than a minute apart and my secret technique involves screaming at you while I attempt to break your hand." She lifts their joined hands in demonstration, squeezing Rachel's sharply.

"On further thought, nitpick away," Rachel murmurs grudgingly.

"Seriously, Rach. There's really nothing to worry about at this point," Quinn promises, her expression softening. "Women have babies every day. This is completely normal."

"Except for your water breaking in the park."

Quinn's lips twitch ever-so-slightly. "I think that might actually be normal for me."

"I will definitely be remembering that if we ever decide to do this again," Rachel mutters.

Two tawny eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Is there actually an  _again_  on the table?"

Rachel frowns, not having fully considered the implication of her words. She's unarguably excited to meet their daughter and irrevocably in love with her already, but she hasn't overcome her concerns about what kind of mother she'll be or forgotten her reluctance to ever ask Quinn to go through a third pregnancy. Reaching over with her free hand to lay it against Quinn's belly, she firmly chooses to evade the question. "Let's just focus on this one for now."

With a sigh, Quinn seems to accept her non-answer. "We still need to call Mom. And then your dads."

Rachel's eyes widen. "Oh, my goodness. I nearly forgot." She pulls her hands away from her wife with some reluctance in order to fumble with her phone again, but before she can even dial Judy's number, Quinn is reaching over to grip her arm with a sharp hiss of breath. Rachel doesn't even have to look to know she's having another contraction, but she does anyway, cringing at the sight of Quinn in pain again. She thinks twice before instructing her to breathe this time, noting that Quinn doesn't seem to be having a problem puffing through the contraction. Instead, she glances at her phone, frowning when she notices, "That one's down to six minutes."

"Do I need to go faster?" the driver asks in a panic.

"No," Quinn growls out at the same time Rachel says, "Yes."

At Quinn's glare, Rachel acquiesces. "Just don't slow down," she amends, still watching Quinn worriedly. "You're doing great, baby," she murmurs as soothingly as she can.

Quinn growls again before slowly expelling a long, shaky breath. Her grip on Rachel's arm slackens, letting Rachel know the contraction is over. "Yeah…just  _great_ ," she grumbles petulantly as she attempts to even out her breathing once again.

Rachel turns her arm over under Quinn's slack fingers and winces slightly at the sight of the bright red welts where Quinn had dug in. She has a sinking feeling that her wife wasn't actually joking about breaking her hand and is planning to carry the idea of sharing in this pregnancy right into sharing the labor pains in any way she can manage. It's a good thing they're heading directly to the hospital. Rachel might just end up requiring medical attention too if Quinn keeps using her as a stress toy for her pain management.

She's wise enough to not say that out loud.

"I'd do this part for you if I could," is what she says instead, but it somehow manages to earn her an irritated scowl from Quinn just the same—probably because they both know she's lying.

"Just call Mom."

"I'll do that right now," Rachel quickly agrees, "before you have another contraction." She ignores Quinn's little huff of annoyance and presses the speed dial, half watching her wife rub circles over her belly and half watching the traffic around them as the taxi speeds down the Henry Hudson.

It only takes three rings for the call to connect with a curious, " _Hello_."

"Hello, Judy. It's Rachel."

" _Yes, I gathered that from the caller ID_ , _dear,_ " is said with the same dryly amused sarcasm that Quinn so often employs.

"Oh, yes. Of course," Rachel mutters.

" _Is Quinnie okay?_ "

"Um…she's…she's actually in labor," she stammers out, briefly glancing at Quinn who offers her a tiny smile. "We're in a taxi on the way to the hospital."

" _Oh, my heavens!_ " Judy exclaims before proceeding to fire off a series of concerned questions. " _When did her labor start? Is she alright? There aren't any complications, are there?_ "

"No, no, she's fine," Rachel is quick to assure her. "Well, fine- _ish_ ," she amends, considering that there has been one minor complication. "Her water broke while we were walking in the park."

There's a breath on the other end of the line that sounds very much like one of Quinn's huffs. " _I told her she should stay home and rest. I just don't understand why she was so insistent on traipsing all over the city this morning_."

Rachel understands perfectly, but she's not about to inform Judy that the need to get away from her overbearing mother is what had Quinn dragging Rachel out the door of their cozy (but suddenly too small) apartment. In fact, she's rather tickled right now to have someone else agreeing that it was a very bad idea, so she finds herself smiling as she commiserates with Judy. "I know. I don't understand why she felt the need to do that today either…"

"Oh, my God! Give me the phone," Quinn demands as she makes a clumsy grab for it.

Rachel easily deflects it. "She can be incredibly obstinate at times."

" _Don't I know it,"_  Judy replies with another mild dose of that amused sarcasm. " _I hope you don't think she gets that from me_."

"No. I don't think she gets it from you at all," Rachel dutifully answers before mouthing, "You kind of do," to her scowling wife. Judy Fabray can be just as obstinate about certain things as Quinn or her sister or that awful man who donated his sperm to them.

"Gimme," Quinn grits out, making another grab for the phone that successfully pries it out of Rachel's hand.

"Hi, Mom," she says pleasantly, giving Rachel one final glare before focusing on whatever Judy is saying. "No, I'm fine. Honestly. It's nothing I haven't been through before. Yes, I'm aware that was thirteen years ago. Way to make me feel old, Mom," she grumbles, pouting. "I know. It's okay. They're about seven minutes apart…"

"Six minutes," Rachel corrects.

"Six minutes," Quinn amends, rolling her eyes. "So there's still plenty of time."

"That's debatable," Rachel mumbles under her breath.

"There's no need for you to rush out the door," Quinn reiterates pointedly, glancing at Rachel in defiance. "But can you grab my bag and bring it with you to the hospital? It's on the floor of the closet in our bedroom. You can't miss it." After a momentary silence, she glances at Rachel with an indulgent smile. "Yes, the one with the gold star sticker on the tag. Just drop some extra food in the bowl for Oliver before you leave and make sure the door is locked on your way out. Rachel has a key." She aims a questioning look at Rachel. "You do have a key?"

"Of course," Rachel readily confirms, surreptitiously tapping her hip pocket just to make sure. She's relieved to feel the familiar outline of her keyring.

Nodding approvingly, Quinn instructs her mother to, "Call Rachel's cell when you get there and she'll come find you," before ending the call with an affectionate, "I love you too, Mom." She lowers the phone down to her lap and turns her attention back to Rachel. "She's going to grab a quick shower before she meets us at the hospital with my bag. Do you think you can manage to call your dads without relaying every intimate detail of my water breaking?"

Rachel drags her teeth over her lower lip, thinking it over. "It might be difficult."

"Rachel," Quinn warns.

"I'm going to tell them eventually, Quinn. It's the dramatic opening scene of our daughter's birthday story," she reasons, silently conceding that it's far more spectacularly befitting to their progeny than some dull story about them sitting around the apartment doing nothing. "Hopefully, I'll begin to see some humor in it after multiple retellings." If she's being completely honest, she's already seeing a tiny bit of that humor now—she'll just find it much easier to smile about when Quinn is safely in the hospital under their doctor's care and their perfectly healthy daughter has been just as safely delivered into their waiting arms.

"I'm calling them myself," Quinn decides, lifting the phone again.

Shaking her head, Rachel holds out an expectant hand. "Give me my phone back."

Quinn's eyebrow lifts in challenge. "No."

Rachel frowns. "You're going to have another contraction."

"Not for," Quinn's eyes dart down to the phone, "two minutes."

Rachel's brows furrow. "You hope."

"I hope too," the driver interjects, clearly having been monitoring their interaction in the rearview mirror.

"Full attention on the road, buddy," Rachel orders, pointing toward the front window.

Quinn leans forward as far as her belly will allow, offering the driver a sympathetic smile. "This is why I apologized in advance."

With an indignant huff, Rachel seizes the opportunity to snatch her phone back. "They are  _my_  fathers.  _I'm_  calling them." She crosses her arms, tucking her phone out of reach and daring Quinn to argue with her again.

Quinn merely leans back in her seat, watching Rachel with an expectant expression. "Well?" she prompts after a long moment, nodding towards the phone.

"I'm calling them  _after_  we get to the hospital," Rachel clarifies. "They will inevitably be very excited when I tell them, and you'll probably have another contraction in the middle of their many questions, and I can only handle my own freaking out while we're still in the car."

Quinn's sympathetic smile is now aimed at Rachel. "Are you still freaking out?" she asks softly.

Rachel manages to laugh a little at that. "You can't tell?"

Quinn's smile brightens, and she reaches across the seat to pry one of Rachel's hands free, linking their fingers together. "You've pulled it together pretty well in the last ten minutes."

"I'm trying," Rachel promises, squeezing Quinn's hand gratefully.

"I'm still freaking out," their driver needlessly informs them.

Rachel sighs, keeping her eyes pinned to Quinn's amused grin. It's not like she can really blame the guy, so this time her words come out much kinder. "Well, stop doing that and focus on driving."

The driver nods and utters an obedient, "Yes, ma'am," and their drive continues on in relative silence—for about thirty seconds before Quinn has her next contraction.

In fact, Quinn has two more contractions before the taxi finally screeches to a halt in front of the Columbia Medical Center. The driver actually beats Rachel out of the car, flinging his door open before he even has the car in park and managing to rip open Rachel's door before running around to the passenger side to open Quinn's. Rachel doesn't know whether he's driven more by genuine concern for the pregnant lady, fear of her wife, or the determination to get them both out of his taxi before Quinn actually gives birth in it. In any case, he'd gotten them here safely and in record time, so Rachel gives him a generous tip.

He thanks her profusely and wishes them both good luck with the baby.

Rachel thinks he's probably incredibly relieved to be driving away. She probably would be too.

As it stands, she's only mildly relieved to  _finally_  be  _at_  the hospital, and she lets her worried gaze linger on Quinn, who's looking noticeably more uncomfortable than she had been before they'd gotten into the taxi. One hand is pressed to her belly while the other kneads at her back and just about every inch of her is damp with sweat and—well, other things that Rachel is trying not to focus on right now. "Do you need me to run in and get you a wheelchair?"

Quinn bites into her lower lip, clearly undecided for a moment before she steels her shoulders and shakes her head. "I've made it this far on my own. I can make it inside."

Rachel considers pushing the issue, but it would probably take longer for her to wrangle a wheelchair away from the staff than to just escort Quinn inside, and she really doesn't want to leave her pregnant wife alone on the sidewalk. "Let's go then," she urges, wrapping one arm securely around Quinn's back as she guides her into the atrium.

She manages to refrain (with some great effort) from screaming for a nurse the moment they're inside, but she does shuffle Quinn over to the check-in desk as quickly as Quinn's pregnant legs can carry her and announces, rather loudly, that her wife is in labor, that her water broke forty-five minutes ago, and that she needs to be admitted to a private birthing room immediately.

The nurse at the desk seems frustratingly unfazed by her urgency, calmly handing over an impressive stack of paperwork for Rachel to complete despite the fact that they'd pre-registered months ago, but she does confirm that Doctor Barnes had called ahead to approve Quinn's admission, and that they do, in fact, currently have a private room available. The only delay comes in the form of that damned paperwork, which gets haphazardly thrown aside when Quinn has yet another contraction right there at the desk, one hand clutching the edge of the counter with white knuckles while she chokes back a pained groan.

"Okay. That's it!" Rachel snaps from Quinn's side as she glares at the nurse. "You're getting my wife to a room right now!"

The woman glances down at the crinkled paperwork, quickly flipping through it. "I will certainly do that Ms. Berry." Her eyes come back up to Rachel as she calmly sets a page down on the countertop, holding up a pen. "Just as soon as you complete this last form and sign right here," she points to the signature line at bottom.

Biting back a frustrated harumph, Rachel snatches back the pen and hastily scribbles her way through the information before messily autographing the bottom. "And it's  _Mrs. Fabray_ ," she corrects snippily. "Now get my wife a damn wheelchair."

Quinn groans again, shaking her head. "I can walk," she grits out, despite the fact that she's currently hunched forward over the check-in desk—clearly still in pain.

"Don't be stubborn," Rachel chastises, rubbing firm circles over Quinn's lower back.

Quinn sends a rather pitiful look in her direction—Rachel isn't sure whether that particular expression more closely resembles a kicked puppy or a drowned kitten—and mutters, "I  _hate_  wheelchairs."

Rachel's heart twists in sympathy. "I know, baby." Being stuck in one after her accident, even for a short time, isn't a happy memory for Quinn—or for Rachel. "But it'll only be for a few minutes."

With a sigh, Quinn nods her agreement before she gingerly stands up straight once again, wincing slightly from the effort. "I really just want to skip ahead to the part where we go home with our daughter."

Rachel's attempt at a smile feels a little weak. "I wish we could." She's not exactly looking forward to watching Quinn go through labor for the next—however many godforsaken hours it takes to get their daughter born! They might be doing this all the way into tomorrow! Although, considering that Quinn's contractions are now closer to five minutes apart than six, it seems like their daughter is in more and more of a hurry to get here.

Thankfully, that irritating nurse comes through with the wheelchair, and Quinn reluctantly lowers herself into it, reaching for Rachel's hand the moment her butt hits the seat. Rachel holds onto her and doesn't let go, scurrying along beside the chair as a different nurse—a petite redhead named Peggy (according to her nametag)—wheels Quinn through the hallways of the Labor and Delivery wing until they're both deposited in a room.

Peggy helps Quinn stand up before parking the chair in a corner. "Hang on while I get you a gown to change into," she says as she quickly retrieves one from cabinet, handing it to Quinn before turning to Rachel with a kind smile. "Would you like to help your wife get out of her dress, Mrs. Fabray?"

"I can do that," Rachel responds dutifully. "I've had a lot of practice," slips out automatically.

"Oh, my God," Quinn mutters, face flushing even more as Peggy chuckles.

Rachel's eyes widen. "I didn't mean it like  _that_ ," she explains hastily. "I just meant that I've.." she trails off, realizing that there's really no good way to explain that she's helped Quinn get dressed and undressed on countless occasions, both sexual and nonsexual, over the many years they've been together. "You know what, never mind," she mumbles in embarrassment.

Despite her nerves making her fingers unusually clumsy, Rachel manages to drag down the zipper on the back of Quinn's dress and help her wife lift the soiled material over her head, handing it over to Peggy to dispose of while Quinn dons the less-than-flattering pink polka-dotted hospital maternity gown.

No sooner does she have it on than she's clutching at her belly and groaning, "Oh...here comes another one." Stumbling forward towards the bed, Quinn plants her palms on the mattress and bends forward with her eyes squeezed shut in pain. Rachel is back at her side in an instant to rub her back and murmur words of encouragement until Quinn finally sags against Rachel on a heavy exhale. "Well, that sucked."

"But you handled it like a pro, baby," Rachel encourages, pressing a kiss to her sweaty temple.

Peggy is at Quinn's other side, placing a hand on her lower back. "Let's get you get on the bed for a few minutes so I can do a preliminary exam," she urges gently. "After that, you'll be free to move around however you feel comfortable."

Nodding, Quinn lets them both help her lie down so Peggy can check her vitals, verify that her water did, indeed, break, and determine how far dilated she is.

The answer is four centimeters, proving that Quinn is already well into active labor—as if the water breaking and the contractions coming every five minutes weren't proof enough.

"You're almost halfway there already," Peggy relays cheerfully, patting Quinn's knee. "I'll get you started on the antibiotic that Doctor Barnes prescribed, just to be on the safe side. One of the attending physicians will probably be around in a few minutes to check in on you too."

"Where's Doctor Barnes?" Rachel wants to know.

"Oh, I'm sure she'll be here in time for the main event. Don't worry. We'll take good care of you in the meantime." And then she's disappearing out the door to get the antibiotic.

Rachel frowns, not particularly liking her answer, and she gets the feeling that Quinn would also prefer to know that their doctor was actually here or at least on the way, but Quinn lets the nurse go without a fight and tugs on Rachel's hand instead. "You need to call your dads."

"Oh, my God. I do." She'd actually forgotten about them in the excitement of getting Quinn checked into the hospital and the subsequent exam.

She digs her phone out of her pocket and brings up her daddy's number. She picks him because she thinks he might manage to stay just a smidge calmer than her dad, and she waits for the call to connect while she glances around the room they've been assigned. It certainly isn't a luxury suite. In Rachel's opinion, the pale yellow walls, television, and plain but functional loveseat under the window do very little to distract from the overall hospital feel of it, but it's certainly nicer than sharing a room with some stranger who's dealing with her own labor drama.

As expected, her daddy answers with a cheerful, " _Rachelah. Hello._   _How are you? How's Quinn?_ "

She almost says they're fine, which is technically true but also so far from the appropriate answer right now. So instead she just jumps right in and tells him, "We're…um…we're actually having the baby. Right now."

" _Now? Like_ now _now_?"

"Well, very soon now. Quinn's in labor and we're at the hospital."

" _Leroy! Leroy!_ " Hiram shouts across the phone line. " _Get in here. The baby's coming!_ " And Rachel can hear her dad's frantic reply of, " _Now?_ " to which Hiram responds, " _She says soon._   _How soon is soon_?" he asks again, and Rachel assumes he's talking to her again, especially when he quickly follows it up with, " _Should we come now? Is Quinn pushing?_ "

A bubble of laughter escapes Rachel. "Not yet. I think it'll be a while before we get to that stage." In truth, she has no idea how long it will take for Quinn to go from four centimeters to ten. "Are you sure you're still okay with waiting until she's born to come?" she asks, feeling the familiar guilt churn in her stomach.

As much as she wants her fathers here with her right now, she knows they'd just be stuck in the waiting room for hours before they'd be able to see the baby. It doesn't seem entirely fair that Judy will get to be here for the birth while her dads won't, but Rachel understands why Quinn feels more comfortable having her mom witness her in her most vulnerable moments than she does Rachel's dads, and Rachel has to admit that she doesn't particularly want her dads seeing all of Quinn's private parts on display either. She knows they're both too squeamish to be in the room for the main event anyway—Daddy had nearly passed out during Rachel's delivery, leaving Dad alone to queasily coach Shelby through the last hour of labor while Daddy had sat in the waiting room with his head between his legs.

Hiram's sigh can be heard over the phone line. " _It goes without saying that your dad and I would rather be there, but we know how important it is for you and Quinn to have your bonding time with the baby. We can wait a little longer to meet her._ " She hears her dad's voice come through a little louder then with, " _For God's sake, put her on speaker, Hiram,_ " before her daddy sighs again. " _Hold on. Okay, you're on speaker, Rachelah_."

" _Baby girl, can you hear me?_ "

Rachel smiles into the phone. "Yes, Dad."

" _You just take care of that wife and baby of yours, and you call us the moment our grandbaby is here. Your daddy can make that drive in just under an hour. Lord knows he has a lead foot_."

" _Slander!_ " Hiram gasps, offended.

" _Oh hush. You know you do. We can be there to cuddle that precious little girl as soon as she's allowed visitors._ "

It's enough to ease her guilt, knowing that they can wait comfortably at home until there's concrete news and then come when they can actually meet their granddaughter without restrictions. "Thanks, Dad. We'll call you as soon as she's born," she promises.

" _Now get back to your wife. She needs you, baby. Be strong for her_."

"I will." She reaches down to take Quinn's hand, giving it a supportive squeeze.

" _We'll see you soon, my darling girl. Give Quinn our love._ "

"I will. Bye, Daddy. Bye, Dad."

The call disconnects and Rachel pockets her phone again, relaying their message to Quinn, who smiles up at her uncertainly. "They understand why we want them to wait, right?"

"Yeah, they do." She offers a reassuring smile. "It's fine."

And it is. Yes, Rachel is a little sad that they won't be here right away, but she knows they'll come as soon as she tells them it's okay, and having them here waiting around for God knows how many hours would be purely selfish on her part since all of her focus needs to be on Quinn and their baby.

For the same reason, they'd also decided that they don't want all of their friends hanging around the maternity ward while Quinn is screaming in pain and looking like hell—her vanity is still very healthily intact, after all. That's why Rachel only sends out a group text telling them that Quinn is in labor and she'll let them know when they have a baby to meet, though she suspects that one or two of them might still show up before then. She sends Steven a separate text to keep him in the loop, although he's currently in Los Angeles, finishing some interior scenes on his movie, but he's been resolute in his intent to fly back after the birth to check on how his investment pans out—his words, of course.

Rachel silently debates with herself on whether she should call Shelby or simply text her. She's more than a friend and less than a mother, but as Quinn had pointed out, she has been trying to make things better, so Rachel places a quick phone call to let her know what's going on. Shelby first asks how Quinn is holding up—impressively well considering that she's in labor—and then, " _How are_ you  _holding up?_ "

Truthfully, Rachel is kind of a nervous wreck, but, "I'm...trying to stay focused on Quinn," she answers with a worried glance at her wife, who's currently pacing the room with both hands pressed to her lower back.

Shelby hums in understanding. " _She'll be fine. They both will. And so will you, Rachel. You're so ready for this._ "

Rachel nods, even though Shelby can't see her. "I know." But it somehow helps to hear it again from someone else.

" _Go take care of your girls now_ ," Shelby instructs warmly. " _You can let me know when that gorgeous baby of yours is here._ "

Rachel promises that she will, thanking Shelby for her encouragement before they say goodbye, and the entire exchange feels far more affectionate than has been typical of them in the past. Rachel doesn't have the energy to analyze what that might mean right now because her focus immediately shifts back to Quinn as she's caught in the grip of yet another contraction, and Rachel tosses her phone down and rushes to her wife's side.

It's on the heels of that contraction that the doctor on call decides to pop his head in, introducing himself as Doctor Pakos and assuring them that they're in capable hands until Doctor Barnes arrives—or if the baby decides she can't wait that long. Rachel doesn't feel all that reassured by his joking disclaimer. Quinn seems more annoyed that yet another person needs to see her at less than her best.

Judy still hasn't arrived after an hour, and Quinn's contractions are growing increasingly more intense, though they stay at stubborn five minute intervals. Quinn is getting more and more restless between them, occasionally lying on her side or making Rachel help her stand up and walk a bit before another contraction hits and she's doubled over in pain once again.

Seeing Quinn in pain is even more awful than Rachel imagined it would be. She's under no delusion that all the handholding or mopping of brows or feeding of ice chips will in any way ease her wife's physical discomfort, but doing  _something_  makes Rachel feel useful, and she knows Quinn appreciates the emotional support.

Peggy frequently checks in on them to monitor Quinn's progress, but Rachel doesn't know how she's going to get through another hour without losing what little calm she's managed to gather. She's not a patient person, and the helpless waiting is killing her.

Waiting for their daughter to arrive. Waiting for her Judy to get to the hospital. Waiting for Quinn to finally be done with labor and pregnancy and all the frazzled nerves that come with it.

Rachel sits gingerly on the edge of the bed where her wife is currently curled onto her side, looking fairly miserable. The bed is adjustable and can be raised, lowered, and inclined into an almost upright position for the birth, but right now it's lowered to make it easier for Quinn to get in and out of it as needed, which also makes it easier for Rachel to balance on the edge of the mattress next to her.

"Can I do anything for you?" Rachel asks gently, brushing locks of damp hair off Quinn's forehead.

"You could rub my back." Quinn's voice carries a distinctive whining note that makes it impossible for Rachel to even think of refusing—not that she ever would. She moves immediately, rushing around to the other side of the bed where she sits behind Quinn and begins to press the heels of her palms into Quinn's lower back the way Nancy had instructed.

"Is this good?"

"It'll do," Quinn mumbles tiredly, gazing back over her shoulder at Rachel with a wan smile. "I'm glad you're here with me this time."

Rachel smiles back at her. "I couldn't be anywhere else." There's a familiar twinge of guilt that she hadn't been there when Quinn had been in labor with Beth, but then Quinn is moaning again, a hand flailing back in search of Rachel's, and Rachel thinks of nothing but Quinn, catching her hand and letting her squeeze it as hard as she can while she rides out the latest contraction.

When it finally passes, Quinn is left panting with tears slipping from the corner of her eyes. "Oh, baby," Rachel soothes, still rubbing at Quinn's back with the hand that hasn't been crushed. She bends down to press a kiss to Quinn's sweaty cheek. "You're doing so good."

Quinn manages an incredulous huff. "Doesn't feel like it."

"I know." She doesn't really, and Quinn's faint glare says as much. "But this will all be worth it once you're holding our baby girl."

"That's what I keep telling myself," Quinn says with a sigh, letting go of Rachel's hand. "Keep rubbing."

"Yes, dear," Rachel agrees obediently, doing as she's told. Quinn hums in appreciation, letting her eyes close for a few moments while she tries to rest.

Rachel expects that her phone will ring soon to disturb the quiet moment, telling her that her Judy is finally here—Quinn never should have told her there was no rush! What she doesn't expect is for Santana to breeze through the door in blue scrubs and a white lab coat with her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, and Rachel startles at the unexpected interruption, stopping the repetitive circles she's been making over Quinn's lower back, which makes Quinn whimper in protest. "Why are you stopping?"

"Jeez. You two are  _still_  at it?" Santana questions with a smirk, and Quinn's eyes pop open. "Getting in one last round of bump and grind before you pop that kid out?"

"Aren't you hilarious?" Quinn snaps weakly, lifting a weary hand to flip her off.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?" Rachel asks, frowning.

Santana rolls her eyes, gesturing to her clothes like it should be obvious. "I don't wear this outfit for kicks."

"I must have missed you switching your specialty to obstetrics."

Santana scoffs, crossing her arms. "I work across the frickin' street. Like I'm not gonna be here for your kid's birth."

"Don't you have patients to see?" Quinn asks, her voice already growing hoarse from exhaustion.

Santana frowns at them. "Are you trying to get rid of me? 'Cause I did my rounds. I've got nowhere else to be unless there's an emergency."

Rachel glances at her wife, sharing a silent look of understanding. Santana wants to be here for them. With a disgruntled sigh, Quinn points a stern finger at her oldest friend. "Any comments about lizard babies and I'm tossing your ass out of here," she warns, "labor pains or no labor pains."

A familiar smirk settles on Santana's face. "Lizard babies were from Puckerman. This one'll be a smurf."

"Santana," Quinn hisses.

"Kidding," Santana defends, holding up her hands in surrender. "Best behavior, I swear."

"I suppose you can stay then," Quinn concedes, smiling a little. "For a little while."

"At least until Judy gets here," Rachel qualifies. "Quinn can only have two people in the room for the delivery and then we're not letting anyone in for at least an hour." Which Santana already knows very well.

Santana looks fairly unimpressed by the warning. "Hello. Doctor here." She touches her identification badge. "This is my free pass around hospital rules."

"How do you stay employed?" Rachel asks in wonder.

"Because I'm…"

"Oh, fuck," Quinn grunts, cutting off whatever Santana intended to say as a flailing hand connects with Rachel's forearm and squeezes.

"Oh…it hasn't been five minutes yet!" Rachel realizes. It's barely been four.

Quinn's eyes slam shut while she tries and fails to bite back a scream, and Santana's eyes widen in muted horror as she watches her best friend writhe in pain. "Oh, holy shit."

Rachel presses the hand she can move to the side of Quinn's belly, feeling the muscles contract beneath her palm. "Breathe, baby."

"I.  _Am_ ," she pants out with an impressive glare, considering the pain she's in.

"Shouldn't there be a doctor in here?" Santana asks in a panic, looking around room as though an obstetrician will magically appear. "One that's not me?"

"Maybe you should go get one," Rachel suggests through gritted teeth, too focused on Quinn to care that Santana is suddenly uncomfortable witnessing a woman in labor up close and in person.

Santana nods dumbly, inching back towards the doorway. "I…yeah…yeah…I'll just…" She doesn't finish the thought, retreating out of the room before bellowing, "Who the hell's in charge on this floor?" in a much more Santana-like tone.

"So much for the unflappable nerves of a surgeon," Rachel mutters under her breath.

"Fuck! This hurts," Quinn sobs out, still caught in the throes of the contraction.

Rachel's heart lurches erratically. "I know it does, baby," she murmurs, hating that she can't make it any better for her wife. It feels like forever until Quinn's muscles unclench and she begins to breathe a little easier once again, but she barely has any time to recover before Santana is practically pushing nurse Peggy back into the room.

Peggy doesn't look amused. "I didn't realize you were friends of Doctor  _Lopez_."

Quinn groans, pressing her face into the pillow, and Rachel glares at Santana. "Please tell me you're not a disgruntled ex."

"Hey. They weren't  _all_  disgruntled," Santana defends.

" _I'm_  not one of her conquests," Peggy assures them in a way that makes it seem like she probably knows someone who was. "But she does have a reputation around here."

"We know," Rachel says in stereo with her wife. "We're sorry," Rachel adds contritely.

"Could you just," Santana waves her hand towards Quinn, "see how close she is to popping? Please," she tags on begrudgingly when Peggy scowls at her.

But then Peggy turns back to them with a pleasant enough smile and reaches for a rubber glove. "You know the drill, honey. I'm going to need you on your back."

"That's what she said," Santana snickers, earning another withering look from everyone in the room. "What? Like you all weren't thinking it."

"Even now, your mind is always in the gutter," Rachel grumbles, easing off the mattress to help Quinn shift into position before holding her hand while Peggy raises the bed to examine her.

"Okay…that's more of you than I ever needed to see," Santana mutters uncomfortably, shuffling over a few steps so she no longer has a direct view of Quinn with her legs spread open.

Quinn glances up at Rachel with a wry smile. "I could make so many jokes about this if I wasn't in labor right now."

Rachel pats her hand reassuringly, managing a small grin. "You can make them later, baby. She's giving us a lot of material today."

"I can hear you," Santana reminds them.

"That's the point," Rachel counters with a small grin, grateful for the temporary distraction from far more stressful matters.

"You're up to five centimeters," Peggy informs Quinn, stripping off her glove. "Halfway there. Your labor seems to be progressing pretty quickly."

"No kidding," Quinn responds grumpily.

"Doctor Barnes should be here in the next twenty minutes or so, but I'll probably be back to check on you again before then." She aims a scornful look at Santana on her way out of the room. "If  _someone_ doesn't cause another ruckus in the meantime."

"It's called getting results," Santana calls after her before turning back to Rachel and Quinn with a shrug. "She obviously doesn't recognize how awesome I am, but she's supposed to be the best L&D nurse on staff, so I'll let it go."

Rachel's phone chooses that moment to blast the chorus of "Does Your Mother Know"—the Broadway version, of course—and she fumbles to answer it, ignoring Quinn's testy, "I can't believe you set that as my mother's ringtone."

"Seems appropriate to me," Santana snickers.

It was between that or "Mother's Little Helper," and Rachel knows that Quinn  _really_  wouldn't have appreciated that one. Still, she makes a mental note to put her phone back on vibrate.

"Hello, Judy," she answers with forced cheerfulness. "Where are you?"

" _I'm in the lobby, dear, but I'm not sure where I'm supposed to go now_."

"Oh…well, we're in room number," she frowns, trailing off when she realizes that she hadn't actually paid attention to that. She's been too focused on Quinn. "Hold on," she murmurs, glancing at Quinn with a perplexed frown. "What room are we in again?"

"Six," Santana answers helpfully, and Rachel suddenly realizes that Santana's medical badge had probably gotten her the information to be able to find them without asking them directly.

"Rachel, go get her," Quinn demands before Rachel can relay the information to Judy, pointing at the door. The fact that she's lying in bed with one hand pressed to her belly significantly lessens the impact of the infamous Fabray glare, but Rachel isn't about to disregard the order and risk upsetting her wife now.

Shaking her head, she tells Judy to, "Wait there. I'll be right down," before directing a hard look at Santana. "I trust you're capable of keeping an eye on Quinn for a few minutes."

Santana's eyes widen slightly. "What do I do if she has another contraction?"

"Seriously?" Quinn spits out in disbelief. "You're a freaking doctor."

"Not  _that_  kind," Santana fires back. It doesn't exactly give Rachel warm and fuzzy feelings, but at least Santana is a body in the room and has already proven that she won't hesitate to get Peggy back in here if she needs to, so Rachel leaves Quinn in Santana's nearly capable hands while she makes a quick run to the lobby.

And if she gets yelled at for actually  _running_  in the hallways by more than one member of the hospital staff, she really doesn't give a crap. Her wife is having a baby!

Unfortunately, Judy is disinclined to actually  _run_  back to Quinn, so Rachel is forced into a very brisk walk that Judy impressively matches step-for-step without Rachel even needing to ask.

She doesn't fail to notice that Judy is somehow flawlessly put together in a casual but stylish outfit, full makeup, and perfectly coiffed hair. It really shouldn't surprise her—she  _is_  Quinn's mother, and Quinn had to get her preoccupation with her appearance from  _somewhere_ —but it does explain why it had taken Judy so long to get here.

When they're finally back at room number six, it's exceedingly clear to Rachel that Quinn is having another contraction, and she rushes back into the room with Judy on her heels. She's pleasantly surprised to see Santana at Quinn's side, rubbing at her shoulder in an attempt to be supportive despite the helpless (and mildly uncomfortable) expression on her face—one that changes to instant relief the moment she sees Rachel.

"Thank fuck you're back!"

Rachel ignores the curse and pushes past her to get to Quinn. "I'm here, baby. I've got you," she coos, reaching for Quinn's hand.

She takes Quinn's answering grunt as  _thank you_.

"We're both here for you, Quinnie," Judy chimes in, setting the bag she's been carrying down on the floor. "You can do this."

And  _that_  grunt is probably an impatient  _I know_.

After a long moment—a really,  _really_  long moment—Quinn's body uncoils and her death grip on Rachel's hand relaxes. "Why did I think this would be easier the second time?" she pants out.

"Oh, it's never any easier," Judy supplies unhelpfully. "Although, I suppose you were in more of a hurry to get here than your sister, so my labor moved a little more quickly the second time around."

"Well, that explains some things," Rachel mutters.

Quinn lets out a tired laugh. "I'm glad you're here, Mom."

Judy settles in quickly, and the next hour passes with conversations meant to distract Quinn from her pain, interrupted at increasingly shorter intervals by the next big contraction. Quinn changes position countless times, moving from the bed to the chair and taking a short stroll down the hallway with Rachel's arm around her for support.

Santana ends up needing to leave to check on a patient of her own, promising to do everything in her power to be back for the main event, and Peggy comes and goes twice more before Doctor Barnes finally makes an appearance. Rachel can't even begin to describe the relief she feels at the sight of their own doctor, who examines Quinn personally and lets them know that she's now at six centimeters.

"I'll be back to check on you in about twenty minutes. Once you hit seven centimeters, you'll be in transition, and things will really start picking up."

"Can't wait," Quinn grumps.

In fact, she has to wait another hour, give or take thirty minutes or so—Rachel really can't be expected to watch the clock that closely while Quinn is in this much pain. In between her wife's contractions, she manages to change out of the sweaty t-shirt she's been wearing since early this morning, quickly freshening up in the tiny bathroom connected to Quinn's room before slipping into the sleeveless button down that she'd packed into Quinn's hospital bag to make it easier for her to have some skin-to-skin contact of her own once their daughter finally arrives.

Just as Doctor Barnes promised, the moment Quinn gets to seven centimeters, her contractions start to last longer and come even closer together with much less time for her to rest in between them, so she's mostly stuck in the bed from that point on, shifting from her back to her side or sitting forward and rocking back and forth in fruitless attempts to manage her pain. Doctor Barnes begins to check in on her every ten minutes, and nurse Peggy is nearly a constant fixture.

As the experience drags on, Rachel feels increasingly stressed out, but she needs to stay strong for Quinn—even when Quinn is screaming at her to, "Stop asking me if I'm okay, Rachel! Do I look okay to you? This fucking hurts, and you're  _not_  helping!"

It's like being punched in the gut—right where she's most vulnerable—and Rachel swallows back her tears, feeling mildly nauseous. She has to remind herself that it's the pain talking and that she shouldn't take Quinn's tone—the one that sounds far too much like the bitchy head cheerleader who'd once  _hated_  her—to heart.

She winces when two palms come to rest on her shoulders. "Rachel, dear," Judy says gently from behind her. "Why don't you take a little break? Perhaps get yourself some coffee? I can take care of Quinn for a little while."

It's her mother-in-law's not-so-subtle way of offering her a chance to get away from Quinn's increasingly barbed tongue for a few moments, and despite the guilt that comes with even considering it, Rachel nods mechanically. She has no intention of actually getting any coffee. She's already too hyped up on adrenaline to think that adding another stimulant to her system could possibly be a good idea right now, but taking a short walk around the hallway or getting a glass of water might help her calm down. She only manages to take a single step away from the bed before Quinn's frantic, "No!" stops her in her tracks. "Don't go," Quinn begs tearfully, making a desperate grab for Rachel's hand. "I'm sorry. I'm  _so_  sorry. I love you. Please don't leave me."

It nearly breaks Rachel's heart, and she's helpless to do anything but ease back to Quinn's side. "I'm not going anywhere," she promises in an equally tearful voice. "I love you too, baby," she murmurs, running the fingers of her free hand through Quinn's damp hair. "I'm right here."

Quinn grips Rachel's hand between both of hers, dragging it to her lips. "I need you here with me, Rach. I can't do this without you."

Technically, Rachel knows that Quinn could do this without her if she absolutely needed to—she's the strongest person Rachel that has ever known—but she absolutely  _doesn't_  need to, because Rachel isn't going anywhere even if Quinn screams at her again.

And Quinn does, of course. She screams and curses and yells and cries and makes good on her promise to nearly break Rachel's hand over the next ninety minutes while she transitions from seven to ten centimeters. Her contractions come nearly on top of one another, and she barely even has time to catch her breath between them. Rachel forces a calm she doesn't feel and keeps on encouraging Quinn, pressing a damp towel to her forehead and rubbing her back until Quinn bats her hand away in irritation.

Santana reappears just before Quinn hits the magic number ten, takes one look at her pain-wracked body sandwiched between an anxious Rachel and a protective Judy with a stoic nurse Peggy standing over Doctor Barnes in mid-cervical exam, and excuses herself right back out with a, "Yeah, I'll just come back when there's a baby."

"You're a terrible doctor," Quinn shouts at her retreating back.

She's too far gone in labor to notice when Doctor Barnes pops her head up with a curious frown, but Rachel does, grimacing slightly. "Not you, Doctor Barnes. She's referring to our  _former_ friend," she spits, making a mental note to have words with Santana about her bedside manner when all of this is over.

"Glad to hear it," the woman comments with a grin, directing her attention back to Quinn. "Because you're fully dilated and the baby is in position. So if you're feeling the urge to push, you can go ahead and do that now."

Rachel's stomach bottoms out. "Now?" she squeaks.

"Now," Doctor Barnes confirms.

"God, yes… _now_ ," Quinn echoes urgently, squeezing Rachel's hand impossibly tighter as she curls forward with a grunt.

"Oh, my God," Rachel mutters, eyes wide and heart thundering in her ears. "This is happening."

Judy rubs Quinn's shoulder from the other side of the bed, but her eyes are on Rachel when she says, "Breathe, dear."

It's only when Rachel finally registers the slight burn in her lungs that she realizes that Judy is, in fact, talking to her and not Quinn, and she gasps for air. Her wife is having their baby! Right now.

Rachel snaps to attention, zeroing in her focus on coaching Quinn through this. "Push, baby."

Quinn's face is bright red and strained with effort as she does just that. Rachel loses track of the contractions while Quinn struggles to bring their daughter into the world, and then she's collapsing back with a frustrated grunt. "I can't do this," she whimpers, shaking her head back and forth.

"Yes, you can," Rachel encourages her. "You're so close, baby."

Quinn squeezes her eyes shut, practically sobbing from exhaustion. "You suck so much. Why did you let me do this again?"

Rachel chokes back a nervous laugh, recalling that there'd been no talking Quinn out of this. She'd been adamant in her decision to have this baby, and Rachel had been helpless to refuse her wife something she'd wanted so desperately. She wisely doesn't remind Quinn of that  _now_. "Because you're the strongest person I've ever known, Quinn, and you're gonna be such an amazing mom." Teary hazel eyes open and lock onto hers, and Rachel smiles encouragingly. "And you make me believe that I will be too," she confesses hoarsely, letting all of her emotion spill out through her voice. "I love you, baby, and I really want to meet our little girl now."

"You still suck," Quinn pants out tearfully.

"I know I do," Rachel agrees in complete support, wiping Quinn's brow. "But you can  _do this_ , Quinn."

"I can do this," Quinn repeats with a firm nod before bearing down with the next contraction, and Rachel murmurs encouragement in tandem with Judy until Quinn is falling back in exhaustion once again. "I can't do this," she sobs again, shaking her head. "It hurts too much." She gives a weak tug to Rachel's hand. "You do it instead."

Rachel smiles weakly. "We're way past that option at this point, baby." And sweet Barbra, after witnessing all of this, she can safely say that she was completely full of shit when she said she'd switch places with Quinn if she could. She so would  _not._

"You listen to me, Lucy Quinn Fabray," Judy commands in a motherly tone, stroking her daughter's hair. "You are not a quitter. You're already a better mother than I am, and your daughter is counting on you to see her into this world. So you keep fighting for her."

Quinn sucks in a deep breath—shaky though it is—and nods. "I can do this," she says again, adjusting her grip on Rachel's hand as she takes a few more breaths. "I need to push," she mutters, gritting her teeth as she does just that with a pained groan.

"The baby's crowning," Doctor Barnes announces. "You're doing great, Quinn. Slow and steady now."

"Did you hear that, Quinn?" Rachel asks excitedly. "She's crowning." Adrenaline zings through her system as the meaning of that fully registers, and she jerks back, stretching as far away from Quinn as she can reach without letting go of her hand. Craning her neck, she barely manages to catch a glimpse of dark hair, and her breath hitches in wonder. "Oh, sweet Barbra. She has hair!"

Quinn groans again, digging her nails into Rachel's palm. "Get back here," she demands through gritted teeth.

Rachel complies without question, grinning stupidly. "She's almost here, baby. You've got this."

"A few more big pushes, Quinn," Doctor Barnes instructs.

"Oh, God," Quinn moans. "What color?" she begs Rachel.

"Brown," Rachel tells her in awe, instantly understanding the question. "You got your wish, Quinn. Just a little more and we get to see the rest of her."

Rachel can see the gleam of determination in Quinn's eyes shining through the glassy sheen of pain. She's never seen her wife work so hard at something, and she's as awed by her now as she is by the tiny life being born.

She hears Doctor Barnes tell them, "Her head is out. Quinn, I need you to stop pushing for just a moment while we clear her mouth."

Rachel chances a look, but she can't see much with their doctor bent over Quinn and Peggy's hands busily suctioning the baby's mouth and—well,  _Quinn_ , and then Doctor Barnes is urging Quinn to push again. Quinn grunts with the effort, and Rachel is right there beside her, cheering her on. "You're so amazing. I love you so much. Keep pushing, baby, we're almost there."

It isn't long until Quinn releases one last strangled moan before collapsing back in exhaustion, and the first wails of their daughter fill the room. Rachel's attention is immediately arrested, and her heart lodges in her throat as she watches Doctor Barnes lift up a tiny, wet squirming baby and carefully deposit her right onto Quinn's naked belly with a gentle, "Here's your daughter," before she quickly rubs her clean with a towel.

"Oh, my God," Quinn breathes out in reverence. Her own eyes are glued to the little life that they'd somehow created together, and she immediately releases her grip on Rachel to cradle the baby with trembling hands. "Hi, baby," she whispers through tears of joy. "I'm your mom." There's a hitch in her voice that echoes through Rachel's entire being, because she knows exactly how long Quinn has been waiting to say that. "Oh, Rachel. Look what we made."

Rachel has been doing nothing else. Her teary eyes drink in the sight of their daughter, tracing the lines of a tiny squished face, wild dark hair sticking up in uneven tufts from a faintly pointed head, delicate ears, and little bowed lips currently parted in demonstration of a very healthy set of lungs. She's never seen or heard anything so beautiful. "She's perfect," she murmurs, reaching out to ghost a trembling fingertip over her daughter's soft cheek before touching the tiny, button nose that she definitely didn't inherit from Rachel.

"Oh, Quinnie. She is," Judy agrees with tears in her own eyes.

"Hello, little star," Rachel whispers shakily, moving her hand next to Quinn's to cradle the tiny body. The baby begins to quiet then, cries giving way to soft little grunts and gurgles. Rachel can feel every wondrous breath moving her daughter's chest up and down. "I'm your mom too. I know that's probably a little confusing for you right now, but you'll catch on in no time."

Quinn chuckles softly, moving one of her hands over Rachel's, but Rachel can't tear her eyes away from her daughter. Everything but the three of them fades into a distant thrum for a few precious moments while Rachel falls, falls, falls into an endless depth of absolute love and devotion that she'd never imagined could exist, and she knows without a doubt that she will do anything, risk everything to protect this little person for the rest of her days.

Her life will never be the same, and she couldn't be happier about it.


	8. This Is Full Blown Love

They say you forget the pain of childbirth the moment you hold your baby in your arms.

That's bullshit.

Admittedly, the intensity of the physical pain that Quinn had experienced with Beth had gotten all muddled up with the emotional pain of giving her up before being buried under thirteen years of regrets, so the memory hadn't been quite as sharp as it should have been when she'd signed up to do it all over again. And her sixteen year old body had certainly been in much better shape than her nearly thirty year old one is now, free from the remnants of the car accident that had left her back and leg forever weakened. But she doubts that she'll be forgetting the excruciating pain of this experience anytime soon. It feels like someone reached up inside of her and ripped out her spine and all of her internal organs with a claw.

You don't forget.

You're just far too distracted by the miraculous little person in your arms to focus on the pain anymore.

Holding Beth for that one brief, moment had only caused Quinn even more pain, knowing that she wouldn't be keeping her, but now—

Oh, God.  _Now_!

Doctor Barnes lays this impossibly tiny baby on her belly where her hospital gown is pushed up to expose bare skin, and she's warm and wet with fluids that Quinn would rather not think too deeply about and still connected to Quinn through her umbilical cord, and the pain dulls into background noise the moment Quinn's shaking hands curve around her perfect little body. "Oh, my God. Hi, baby," and she's surprised that her voice even works at all with the massive lump wedged firmly in her raw throat. "I'm your mom." And God, that feels amazing to say. She's a  _mom_.

She's finally meeting the daughter that she gets to keep and raise and love unconditionally for the rest of her life—the daughter she shares with the woman she loves.

Her eyes roam lovingly over the baby, counting fingers and toes and looking for traces of her wife in the miniature features. She's sure that she can already see Rachel in their daughter's cheeks and mouth—and certainly in her impressive vocal capacity. It's like she's trying to tell them in no uncertain terms that she's not happy about being ripped away from her warm, quiet haven inside of her mother and thrust into this bright, noisy room, but Quinn is incredibly happy that she's here. "Oh, Rachel. Look what we made."

Her gaze drifts up to her wife for the first time since their daughter had made her appearance, and her breath catches at what she sees. Rachel has always worn her heart on her sleeve for all the world to see—it's in her eyes and the curve of her lips and every line of her face—and right now all Quinn can see is blinding, unwavering love and devotion. It's everything that Quinn has dreamed of for so long.

"She's perfect," Rachel breathes out as she touches a careful finger to their daughter's cheek and nose—the one that's noticeably more petite than Rachel's is—and Quinn thinks she notices a flash of relief in her wife's expression.

"Oh, Quinnie. She is," Judy gushes, and Quinn briefly drags her gaze away from Rachel to glance at her mother, relieved to see the genuine joy on her face. She has to admit, she'd been a little nervous about her mom's reaction when they'd told her that they'd used Rachel's egg, but she doesn't think she has anything to worry about now.

And Rachel—well, Rachel is still completely lost in their daughter, gently placing a shaking hand on her tiny body as she introduces herself with an awed, "Hello, little star." The baby quiets almost instantly and Quinn smiles, imagining that she already recognizes her mama's voice and can't help but listen with rapt attention. "I'm your mom too. I know that's probably a little confusing for you right now, but you'll catch on in no time."

Quinn laughs at that, touching Rachel's hand where it curves protectively over their daughter, and her own hungry gaze is drawn back to those perfect little features. She can barely believe that she's finally holding the little person who's been living under her heart for the last nine months. She'd felt so empty after giving birth to Beth, but right now she feels full to bursting with love and contentment.

There's nothing that Quinn wants more than to ignore the rest of the world and focus only on her little family, but of course, there are still medical matters to attend to—a fact they're reminded of when Doctor Barnes clamps off the umbilical cord and asks Rachel if she wants to do the honors of cutting it.

Rachel looks mildly terrified as she eyes the scissors being offered to her, but she takes them with trembling fingers and (with a nervous squeal) cuts right where Doctor Barnes tells her to. "Good job, Mom," their doctor praises, and Rachel beams with pride—whether from the compliment or her new title, Quinn can't be entirely certain.

Peggy steps in with a baby blanket draped over her arm, deftly unsnapping the top of Quinn's hospital gown before helping her move the baby from her belly to her chest. She drops the blanket over the both of them before stepping away, and Quinn's eyes fill with tears all over again as she gazes down at her daughter in wonder, catching her breath at the sight of tiny eyelids fluttering open for the first time to reveal hazy, dark eyes looking curiously up at her. If Quinn had thought she looked like Rachel before, the resemblance is undeniable now. Except for her nose, she looks almost exactly like the baby pictures of her wife that Leroy had once spent hours showing her.

"She's so tiny. Just like you," Quinn jokes tearfully, glancing up at her wife.

Rachel worries her bottom lip at the comment, glancing anxiously to their doctor. "She's not  _too_  small, is she?"

Doctor Barnes chuckles, shaking her head. "She's fine. We'll get an official weight and measurement once you've had some time together, but I've delivered enough babies to confidently say that she's well within the normal range for newborns, and she's a very healthy Apgar nine."

Rachel frowns at that. "Why isn't she a ten?"

Quinn had done her research about the Apgar scale right along with Rachel, and she strongly suspects that Rachel is asking less because she's concerned there could be a problem and more because she's mildly offended that their daughter didn't get a perfect score.

Doctor Barnes isn't fazed at all by the slight note of accusation in Rachel's voice. "Her hands and feet are still a bit bluish, but again, that's perfectly normal right after birth," she's quick to assure them. "They should pinken up in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Don't worry," she adds with a grin, nodding towards the baby. "You did a good job with this one."

Quinn couldn't agree more.

"Have you finally settled on a name for her?" Judy prods with an arched brow, clearly eager to know how she should address her granddaughter.

Gazing up to Rachel, Quinn is fairly certain that they're on the same page. They've been mostly settled on the name at the top of their list ever since Quinn had suggested it—they've only been waiting to meet her to be sure it feels right. Rachel's soft smile and nod tell her that they're in agreement even before Rachel opens her mouth.

"Calliope," she proclaims with confidence.

Quinn smiles, loving the name even more now that their daughter is here to answer to it. "Calliope Alice."

"Alice?" Rachel questions with a small frown.

Quinn arches a brow, meeting Rachel's gaze in challenge. She knows full well that Rachel is about to argue for Lucy—and with Quinn's mother standing right there, Quinn might have no choice but to finally give in. "How many hours was I in labor, Rachel?"

A faintly pained expression crosses Rachel's features, and she sighs in resignation. "Calliope Alice," she agrees, finally letting go of her hopes for  _Lucy_.

Judy presses a hand over her heart, and her eyes glisten suspiciously as she smiles down at the baby. "That's a lovely name for a lovely girl."

Quinn thinks so too. Calliope Alice Fabray. Her daughter.

"I hate to interrupt the moment," Doctor Barnes cuts in, "but we still have a little bit of work to do before you're officially done with labor."

"Ugh," Quinn groans, knowing exactly what she means. She still needs to deliver the placenta. "I hate this part too," she grumbles.

"Do you need me to stay, Quinnie?" her mother asks kindly. "Or would you like me to call Hiram and Leroy and give them the happy news?"

"Would you?"

Judy nods, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind Quinn's ear. "Of course, sweetie." She glances at Rachel in deference. "If that's alright with you, Rachel?"

Rachel nods. "Let them know I'm taking care of Quinn and Calliope, and I can't wait until they meet her."

"I will, dear," Judy agrees. "I'll have them call my cell when they get here, and you can let us know when you're ready for visitors again."

Quinn imagines it would take a nice long nap, a hot bath, and at least thirty minutes with a mirror and her makeup bag to make her truly ready for visitors, but she supposes she'll have to settle for being cleaned up with all her private parts fully covered. She's grateful to her mom, though, and she says as much, thanking her for all of her support and causing them both to shed a few more happy tears before Judy finally exits the room.

Doctor Barnes moves back to the foot of the bed with a calming smile. "Rachel, would you like to hold Calliope for a bit while we take care of Quinn?"

Rachel looks startled by the question—eyes flying from the baby to their doctor and then back to Quinn. "Oh….um…can I?" she asks timidly.

Quinn chuckles softly, shaking her head at her wife's hesitation. "She's your daughter, Rachel. You don't need permission."

Rachel lets out a little huff. "I know. I'm just a little nervous," she admits, fiddling with her wedding ring. "You know that I haven't actually held a baby…a real one, not that wretched doll in our childbirth class," she clarifies with a grimace, "since Leon Jr was born, and that was a  _really_ long time ago, Quinn."

Her hesitation is almost endearing.  _Almost_. "I guess you better start getting comfortable." Quinn glances back down at Calliope. "Isn't that right, Calliope? You want Mama to hold you, don't you, baby?" Calliope looks fairly uncommitted either way, but she emits a tiny little gurgle that Quinn is absolutely taking as a  _yes_ , so Quinn lifts her eyes to Rachel expectantly. "Get naked and then get down here," she commands tenderly.

Rachel grins, giggling nervously as she hastily unbuttons her blouse to expose her chest. There's a faint blush on her cheeks, but she seems otherwise unconcerned by her nudity courtesy of her time in the theater. The shirt gapes open as she bends down closer to slip her hands beneath Calliope's petite body. "Just don't let me drop her."

"You'll be fine," Quinn promises as she carefully transfers Calliope into Rachel's waiting arms, pausing only to adjust her hand under their daughter's tiny head and making sure Calliope stays covered by the blanket. (And if her own hands follow Calliope's little body up until it's safely cradled against Rachel's chest—well, that's just because she's reluctant to let her go.)

"Oh, wow," Rachel breathes out, wide-eyed and so very careful as she stares down at the precious little person in her arms. "She's  _so_  small. How can someone so small already hold such a big piece of my heart?"

Quinn presses a hand to her own heart, drinking in the sight of her wife holding their daughter for the very first time. "She probably inherited that talent from you." Because Quinn has felt that way about Rachel for so long, and now their daughter has stolen the rest of her heart the same way her mother had so many years ago.

"Well, better  _that_  than my nose," Rachel quips with a self-deprecating smile.

"I love your nose. I'm kind of sad she didn't get it."

Rachel shoots her an incredulous look before gazing down at Calliope again. "I think your mommy is still a little fuzzy from the pain."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "True as that is, it doesn't change my opinion." She loves everything about Rachel—nose and every beauty mark included.

An appreciative smile curves Rachel's lips. "Your opinion is heavily biased, but I love you."

"I love you too."

Rachel holds her gaze for a long moment, conveying every bit of her love and devotion through her eyes, before she directs that same gaze down to their daughter. "And I love you, Calliope Alice. Yes, I do." She gently bounces the baby in emphasis, but Calliope doesn't seem to appreciate the unexpected motion very much and begins to stutter out unhappy little cries. Rachel's eyes widen in panic and she practically freezes, holding Calliope very still. "Oh…oh, no. Don't fuss," she coos worriedly. "I've got you." There's a faint tremor in her voice, and her eyes are glistening suspiciously. "I promise I'll get better at this."

Calliope's whimpers are already quieting, and Quinn feels her heart swell even fuller. "I think you're doing just fine."

Rachel doesn't look entirely convinced, but she and Calliope both seem to settle after a moment, standing guard over Quinn while Doctor Barnes and Peggy do what they need to do to get Quinn through the final stage of labor, consisting of gross things that Quinn prefers not to focus on. She'd much rather watch her wife and daughter, only giving their doctor the minimum attention required to follow the necessary instructions.

Once she's delivered the entire placenta, Doctor Barnes examines her and makes sure her uterus contracts again before proclaiming her officially done with labor. Peggy helps her get cleaned up with a fresh gown, hospital issued mesh underwear, and a pad, adjusting the bed back into a more bed-like position, while Rachel bonds with their daughter, and then it's finally Quinn's turn to hold her again.

Rachel is clearly reluctant to relinquish her hold on Calliope, but she doesn't hesitate to settle the baby back over Quinn's breast, and Quinn wants to weep from the joy of having her daughter back in her arms again. Rachel refastens her shirt as she carefully balances against the edge of the bed, gaze still glued to Calliope like she can't fully believe that this little person really belongs to them.

"She's so beautiful, Quinn," Rachel says reverently, touching a tiny foot. "Perfect and amazing…and just… _everything_." She shakes her head in wonderment. "I don't even have the words..."

"I know." The emotions blooming in Quinn's chest are far too overpowering to describe with simple, inadequate words—the unconditional love too boundless—and it's enough to know that Rachel is feeling the same way. "We're moms, Rach," Quinn murmurs in complete and utter happiness, gazing up at her wife.

Rachel's soft, "Yeah," is filled with such quiet wonder. He dark eyes are glittering with love as she leans forward to press a chaste kiss to Quinn's lips, salty with the taste of their mutual tears. "You were incredible today, baby," Rachel whispers when they part. "I'm so proud of you."

"I couldn't have done it without you." At her worst moments, when the pain had been so all-consuming that she'd wanted nothing more than to give up and let unconsciousness claim her, she'd focused on Rachel—on her voice and her face and her hand inside of Quinn's—and found the strength to keep fighting to bring their daughter into the world.

Rachel's eyes glisten with emotion, and she reaches up to cup Quinn's cheek tenderly. "You  _could_  have." When Quinn opens her mouth to protest, Rachel silences her with a finger over her lips. "But you'll never need to. I will always be here for you, Quinn." She moves her hand down to gently cup Calliope's head. "For both of you."

It's a perfect moment, made even more perfect when Rachel's lips brush over hers once again before she bends down to kiss their daughter's head. They stay like that, a little family of three, for countless, beautiful minutes before Calliope begins to root around for Quinn's breast, whimpering impatiently as her little mouth opens and closes against Quinn's skin.

"Oh," Quinn gasps softly, staring down at the baby in astonishment. "I think she's hungry." Moisture stings her eyes again, because she'd never had the opportunity to nurse Beth, and she's so very eager to experience this with Calliope.

Peggy has been lingering in the room, tidying up and preparing Calliope's warming bassinet for later, but an eager summons from Rachel has her at Quinn's other side with a soothing smile. "Let's get this little one fed, shall we?" Her steady hands help Quinn position Calliope's body, gently guiding her head to Quinn's nipple. She shows Quinn how to support her breast for the baby, patiently explaining where Calliope's mouth should be and how to encourage her to properly latch on.

It takes a few tries for them both to figure things out, but Calliope eventually latches on the right way, and it's the weirdest sensation. Quinn had thought it might hurt, and it certainly doesn't feel  _good_ , but it's not exactly painful either. Calliope seems to be a natural though, and Quinn's heart soars with the knowledge that she's feeding her daughter.

"Oh, Rachel, look," she whispers, wondering if her wife finds this even half as amazing as she does. When she tears her gaze away from her daughter to glance at Rachel, she sees Rachel watching them together in wonder.

"What does it feel like?" she wants to know, curiosity shining in her eyes.

Quinn ponders the question with a tiny frown. "I don't know if I can really describe it. Those first couple of tries felt like having my nipple scraped with sandpaper."

Rachel's grimace is accompanied by a sympathetic, "Ouch."

Quinn nods, grinning wryly. "It's probably going to be really uncomfortable for me if we don't get the hang of that part. But right now, it's mostly just a warm, tingling sensation with a little bit of tugging on my nipple." Her smile softens as she gazes back down at Calliope. "It's weirdly calming."

Rachel sighs wistfully, stroking Calliope's little belly. "I wish I could experience it with you."

"You could have," Quinn reminds her a little peevishly. It's not like they hadn't discussed the possibility of Rachel wet nursing their daughter, "But you didn't want deal with another round of drugs and swollen, sore breasts while you were still performing."

"Oh, right," Rachel recalls with a not-very-apologetic grin. "My loss now, I suppose." Her expression  _almost_  manages to appear regretful.

Calliope doesn't actually nurse for very long that first time. Peggy had informed her that would probably be the case for a while since a newborn's stomach is still very small so it doesn't take long for them to feel full. Quinn does feel a brief stinging sensation when Calliope lets go of her breast—like getting her nipple caught in a zipper—but it passes quickly. She hopes that doesn't happen every time.

That first hour passes much too quickly for Quinn, and at the end of it, Doctor Barnes and Peggy reappear to officially weigh and measure Calliope. Quinn frowns when Peggy lifts her daughter away from her, feeling the loss acutely despite the fact that she's only right across the room. She silently reminds herself that no one is taking Calliope from her. Not ever.

"It's just a routine exam," Rachel assures her, obviously reading the distress on her face. "She'll be back in your arms in no time."

Quinn nods, brushing away an errant tear. "I know." It's silly. She'd been perfectly fine when Rachel had been holding her. "I just want to keep her in my arms forever."

Rachel smiles, stroking her hair. "Me too. But that's not entirely feasible. I mean, we will need to sleep eventually," she points out with a grin.

Quinn chuckles at that. "Calliope might have other ideas about that."

"All the more reason for us to catch naps whenever we can."

"God, I feel like I could sleep for a week," Quinn admits. She's sore in places she didn't even know existed and utterly exhausted, and all she wants (other than to hold her daughter forever) is to fall into her own bed to sleep without worrying about her baby bump getting in the way or her bladder waking her up every hour. She'll have Calliope to do that now.

Peggy brings the baby back after a few minutes, wrapped up in a blanket now, and transfers her back into Quinn's arms, and Doctor Barnes pronounces her in perfect health. "All seven pounds, twelve ounces, and eighteen inches of her. Definitely not too small," she reassures Rachel with a grin.

"She felt a lot bigger than seven pounds when she was coming out of me," Quinn grumbles good-naturedly, smiling now that her daughter is back in her arms where she belongs.

Doctor Barnes laughs. "I hear that a lot." She congratulates them both again before bidding them goodnight and exiting the room.

Peggy lingers for a moment to offer some final instructions, informing them that her shift is over but the evening nurse will check in on them later. "Don't hesitate to call her if you have any problems breastfeeding tonight or have any concerns at all. You should continue to practice the skin-to-skin whenever you can, but you do have some visitors waiting now if you're ready to see them."

Part of Quinn wants to keep the rest of the world locked out of this room and lie here in the safety of Rachel's embrace while Calliope sleeps in her arms, but their parents are waiting outside to meet their granddaughter, and she can't very well turn them away. They're her family, and she's so incredibly grateful that her daughter will have them in her life.

As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Rachel touches her shoulder. "Do you feel up to letting them in now?"

Quinn smiles wryly. "Your dads drove all the way here." And she can tell by the expression on Rachel's face how eager she is for her fathers to finally meet their granddaughter, so she turns to Peggy and tells her, "You can send them in. And thank you, for everything," she adds, smiling gratefully at their nurse.

She'd never met the woman before today, but she can certainly see why Peggy has a reputation for being the best. She was calm and supportive without being invasive, and when it had come time for action, her knowledge and skill working alongside Doctor Barnes was unmistakable. Quinn truly appreciates everything she'd done for them today.

"You're very welcome," Peggy returns kindly before slipping out of the room.

"I could have asked my dads to wait a little longer if you needed me to," Rachel informs her once they're alone again. "You and Calliope are my priority now."

It's said so simply and with such sincerity that Quinn finds herself rapidly blinking back a fresh batch of tears. "I really do love you."

With a soft grin, Rachel lifts her hand to affectionately tuck some hair behind Quinn's ear. "That's very convenient, because I really love you too. More now than ever before." And then she leans in for a sweet kiss that Quinn happily reciprocates. It only lasts a few seconds, and she's barely pulling away when they hear the knock.

They both look towards the door in time to see it inch open before Leroy hesitantly pokes his head inside. "Is it safe to come in?" he asks, voice overflowing with excitement and anticipation.

Rachel giggles, nodding as she stands from the bed to greet them. "It is." With that, Leroy opens the door the rest of the way, revealing Hiram right behind him. "Come meet Calliope," she urges, waving them into the room with a proud smile.

"Oh, I've been waiting for this moment," Leroy gushes, seizing Rachel's invitation and hurrying inside with Hiram on his heels. Judy glides in after them, lingering at the edge of the room to allow the men their first opportunity to see the baby.

It's a testament to how excited Leroy is to meet his granddaughter that he barely pauses to deliver an exuberant kiss to Rachel's cheek before focusing completely on Quinn—or rather the precious bundle in her arms. Quinn gently pushes the edges of the blanket away from Calliope's face, shifting her enough to give her grandfathers a better view. "Here she is."

Leroy's hand flies over his heart as he gazes down at Calliope with glistening eyes. His other hand blindly reaches for Hiram, finding his wrist and tugging him closer. "Oh, Hiram. Look."

Hiram slips his arm around Leroy's waist, pulling his husband close as he smiles adoringly at the baby. "I'm looking, Leroy."

"Oh, my," Leroy whispers in awe, briefly pressing a hand to his mouth as he struggles to compose himself. "Oh, she's gorgeous."

"A vision of perfection," Hiram agrees, barely managing to tear his eyes away from Calliope for even a moment to acknowledge Quinn's mother. "Judy, your description didn't even begin to do her justice."

Judy, who's taken a position on the small loveseat by the window, smiles graciously. "I don't know any words that could, Hiram."

They've developed an odd sort of rapport over the years—not quite a friendship, per se, but something more affable than merely in-laws. Quinn suspects they might actually have become friends if they still lived in the same city. Once Judy had gotten past her awkwardness over how she should act around Rachel's dads, she'd discovered them to be quite entertaining, and now they all get along fairly well whenever they find themselves drawn back together. It's a very good sign for the family gatherings to come in the future.

Leroy moves then, seeking out Rachel, who's been watching them from the foot of the bed with a pleased smile. "Oh, baby girl," he exclaims, enveloping her in his typical bear hug and kissing the top of her head. "She's beautiful. I'm so happy for you."

"Thanks, Dad," she mumbles into his chest, smiling tearfully up at him when he releases her. "I'm so glad you're here." Her eyes drift to Hiram. "Both of you."

It's Hiram's turn to open his arms then. "Come here, my little Rachelah," he urges, embracing her with slightly less fervor but no less love. Before he lets her go, he runs a fatherly hand over her hair, telling her, "You done good."

Wet laughter falls from her lips, and she gives his chest an affectionate pat as she steps back, brushing away a joyful tear. "Quinn did all the hard work," she acknowledges, sending Quinn an adoring smile.

"Labor sucks even more than I remembered," she complains affably before her eyes fall down to her daughter once again, "but God, it was so worth it."

"Unquestionably," Hiram agrees, adjusting his glasses as his gaze returns to her. "Though you hardly look any worse for the experience." A charming smile settles on his lips. "In fact, you look absolutely radiant, my dear."

Quinn laughs, shaking her head. "You're a terrible liar, Hiram." Her hair is a mess, she needs a shower, and she's positive that whatever makeup she'd put on this morning has long since been washed away by sweat and cool compresses. She's certain she must look an absolute fright right now. "But thank you."

Hiram nods in acknowledgment, smiling until Leroy laughingly pats his shoulder and says, "Oh, he is. You know Rachel had to get it from somewhere."

"Hey!" Rachel protests in tandem with Hiram. Quinn only laughs again, because it's true. For being such an amazing actress, her wife can't outright lie to save her life. Quinn still hasn't figured out how she'd managed to keep the baby shower a secret.

"But he's not lying now," Leroy continues with a fond smile, touching Quinn's shoulder. "Motherhood looks wonderful on you, my darling girl, just like I knew it would," he observes tenderly, leaning down to kiss the top of her head the same way he had with Rachel.

"You're making me cry," Quinn accuses when tears spring to her eyes again, and she struggles to wipe them away without jostling Calliope too much.

Leroy gazes down at her through glistening eyes. "Well, then we're even."

Quinn nods, glancing down at the baby. Calliope is blinking up at her, eyes unfocused and dancing around the room. Quinn wonders if she's trying to figure out to whom all the new voices belong, and she looks back up at Leroy, smiling softly. "Would you like to hold her?"

His eyes widen in surprised delight. "Can I?" he asks, quickly glancing around the room. "I don't want to jump the line."

"He absolutely does," Hiram immediately disputes.

"But I  _won't_ ," Leroy insists before his questioning gaze settles on Judy, and Quinn instantly understands his hesitation. Judy has been at the hospital the longest.

Quinn follows his line of sight to see her mother sitting comfortably on the loveseat. An amused smile plays on her face as she watches them. "You won't hear me object," she assures them, holding up her hands. "I had the privilege of being the first one to meet her. I can wait my turn to hold her."

Quinn is grateful for her mother's polite deferral, though she suspects it has everything to do with the fact that Judy is staying with them and therefore knows that she'll have plenty of prime one-on-one time with the baby over the next two weeks. She's sure that Leroy is even more grateful, regardless of the reason, when his eyes light up. "In that case," he says, turning back to Quinn with a wide smile as he holds out his hands, "give me my grandbaby."

Chuckling, Quinn adjusts her hold on her daughter, carefully lifting her away from her body just enough for Leroy to slide his eager hands securely beneath her. "Say hello to your grandpa Leroy," she coos, passing her into her grandfather's sure arms while Rachel pads around the bed to stand at Quinn's side.

"Oh," he gasps the moment he feels her weight, slowly straightening as he settles the baby safely against his chest. "She's so tiny," he murmurs almost to himself, as if he'd forgotten what it feels like to hold a newborn baby. "Grandpa, huh?" he repeats, briefly darting his eyes between Quinn and Rachel. "Well, we'll work that out," he mumbles, grinning down at Calliope even as she begins to fuss in his arms.

Little sobs teeter just on the edge of a full-blown cry, and Quinn frowns, her heart lurching at the first sounds of her daughter in distress. She's nearly ready to demand that Leroy give her back when he begins to rock back and forth, his voice dropping into a gentle croon. "Don't fret, sweet Calliope. Your mommies are still right here," he assures her, angling his body so the baby in his arms can catch sight of Rachel and Quinn. "See. They're not going anywhere."

Whether it's seeing her mothers, or Leroy's soft, musical voice, or the gentle sway of his body, Quinn isn't entirely sure, but Calliope begins to calm again, no doubt assessing this new person with keen interest. "You're safe and sound with your granddaddy, sugar plum," Leroy promises, staring down at her lovingly.

"Sugar plum?" Hiram echoes bemusedly as he shuffles in beside his husband and wraps an arm around his shoulder. "Did I miss a memo? Is it December already?"

"Oh, hush you," Leroy chides lightly, bumping back against him. "It's because she's so sweet. Just look at her."

"I'm looking," Hiram sighs, resting his temple against the top of Leroy's head.

"She's beautiful."

"That she certainly is."

Rachel sinks down onto the edge of the bed next to Quinn, slipping an arm around her shoulders as she watches her fathers fall in love with their granddaughter.

Looking at them now, Quinn can easily imagine that this is what they were like when Rachel was a baby, minus, of course, a few grey hairs and some wrinkles—though she won't ever mention the wrinkles to Leroy or Hiram. She can already tell they're going to spoil Calliope rotten, and she has a feeling she's never going to try to stop them. If only her own father could be half as doting.

Even the fleeting thought of Russell has her stomach clenching and her heart aching, and she has to blink back the sting of tears that are decidedly less than happy. She's aware that he'd been informed of her pregnancy—her mother and Frannie had both made offhanded comments before quickly (and blessedly) changing the subject—but even the prospect of another grandchild hasn't softened his disdain for her  _choices_ , and frankly, Quinn doesn't think she could ever want him back in her life even if it did. She's just sad that she couldn't have had a relationship with her father that's even a fraction as supportive or forgiving as the one she's formed with these two men who have somehow accepted her into their family despite her inauspicious beginning with Rachel.

Rachel's arm around her tightens, and she's not surprised to see concern shining from brown eyes. "Are you okay?" she asks quietly.

Quinn wipes away another tear on a breathless laugh and nods, banishing Russell Fabray from her thoughts once more. He really doesn't deserve any place in this moment. "Our little girl really is so blessed," is what she says, focusing on all the wonderful, supportive people that Calliope will have in her life.

Rachel's gaze drifts back to her dads, and she sighs happily. "She really is." Leroy and Hiram continue to coo and fuss over Calliope, making (maybe not-so) outlandish promises about ponies and baby grand pianos and yearly trips to Disney World, and Rachel shakes her head indulgently. "She's also going to be so very spoiled."

Quinn pats her leg soothingly. "Well, the pony's a definite  _no_. You just need to show them your PowerPoint on the cruelty of keeping horses in the city."

Rachel laughs at that, shaking her head again. "They'll probably just offer to keep it at a stable in Fairfield."

Quinn shrugs. "I could probably live with that." She'd kind of always wanted a pony when she was a little girl.

Rachel gently pokes her shoulder. "Don't encourage them," she chastises lightly.

Quinn only grins, leaning into Rachel's side as her eyes linger on her daughter. Her gaze eventually drifts to her mother, who's watching the men fondly as she patiently waits for her turn to hold Calliope. "Do you know if Santana is still here?" she asks, only now wondering where their friend had disappeared to after she'd hightailed it out of the delivery room.

"She was when we came in," Judy confirms.

"She was lurking around the nurses' station," Hiram chimes in, lifting his eyes from the baby. "I think they're all too afraid of her to kick her off the floor."

Quinn chuckles, having no trouble whatsoever believing that. "I'm surprised she didn't come in with you."

"She wanted to give you time with your family," Judy explains, tilting her head thoughtfully. "I admit that I've had my doubts about that girl in the past, but now I think I'm glad that you have her in your life."

It's the highest of compliments coming from her mother, and Quinn smiles. "She does have her moments."

Nodding, Judy says, "I can ask her to come in if you'd like."

"Not yet," Quinn responds, deciding that if Santana had offered to wait, then she can wait a little while longer. "This is still grandparent time."

Her mother looks pleased with that. After all, she's still waiting for her turn to hold Calliope, and Hiram had only just managed to steal her away from Leroy a few moments ago.

"Oh," Rachel breathes out, eyes widening. "I need to call Shelby," she exclaims, shaking her head as if she can't believe that she could have forgotten. "And text all our friends. I completely forgot."

"I think they'll forgive you," Quinn tells her with a grin. "You've had more important matters to attend." And her eyes drift back to their daughter.

"Yeah," Rachel agrees with the same breathless awe in her voice that she's had since Calliope had come screaming into the world. "But I really do need to let everyone know." She begins to dig into her pocket for her phone before suddenly tensing up and muttering a nervous, "Oh, no."

"What's wrong?" Quinn asks, frowning.

Rachel doesn't answer, frantically glancing around the room for a few seconds before relaxing noticeably. "Judy, could you please hand me my phone? It's on the window ledge," she directs, pointing to window behind the loveseat as she slides off the bed. "I forgot I'd set down over there earlier."

Quinn's mother obligingly reaches for the phone and passes it to Rachel, who then returns to the bed with a sheepish expression. "More important matters."

"The most important," Quinn agrees with a laugh, leaning into Rachel the moment she sits back down.

She sighs in contentment, alternating her attention between Rachel's dads with the baby and Rachel's phone call to Shelby—short and sweet though it is with the announcement of Calliope's full name along with her time of birth, weight and length, and the assurance that both mothers and baby are doing wonderfully. She can tell from Rachel's side of the conversation that Shelby won't be rushing to the hospital to see Calliope tonight even before Rachel disconnects the call and informs her that, "She offered to wait until tomorrow to come visit with Beth." Quinn is mostly grateful for the extra recovery time before she'll need to entertain even more visitors, though she is eager for Beth and Shelby to meet the newest member of their family.

After that, Rachel sends off hasty texts to their friend group with a separate text to Steven containing the same information. (Lord knows how many hospital rules they've been breaking by having their phones in here.) It's not at all surprising when Rachel's phone starts to buzz with responses after only a few moments, but Rachel quickly silences it, once again forgetting about everyone outside of this room for the time being.

Eventually, Hiram sits down on the loveseat next to Judy and carefully passes Calliope to her with a glowing introduction. "This stunning lady is your grandma Judy. You're a very lucky little girl to have so many lovely, accomplished women in your life."

"You're a very kind man, Hiram," Judy murmurs gratefully, tearing up before the baby is even in her arms, and Quinn doesn't even attempt to hold back her own tears as she watches her mother hold Calliope for the first time. All of the irritation that she'd felt earlier that morning is forgotten. The years of slowly working through old disappointments and resentments to rebuild their relationship have made this moment possible, and Quinn is nothing but grateful for it.

"Hello, my sweet angel," Judy whispers, falling into Calliope's orbit. "I'm so very happy you're finally here."

It's some time later when Judy finally parts with Calliope, placing her back into Quinn's waiting arms. Quinn has been unexpectedly restless without her, even though she's exhausted. She'd even closed her eyes for a few moments, laying her head against Rachel's shoulder and simply listening to the quiet conversation around her, but she hadn't been able to fully relax with the itch in her fingers to hold her daughter again. Having her back now is an instant balm.

Of course, she's only able to hold her for a few minutes before the door flies open and Santana comes breezing in with no preamble, apparently at the end of her patience. She's no longer wearing her scrubs, having changed into a simple white pullover and jeans, but her hospital badge is still clipped to her waistband—and even more surprising, she's carrying a tray full of food.

"I wrangled you some dinner," she announces, padding over to the rolling food tray that's parked in the corner and setting down her offering. "It's the good stuff from cafeteria...not that crap they feed the patients." A smirk settles on her lips. "Doctor's privilege." She shoves her hands into her back pockets as she glances around the room. Her posture looks similar enough to her typical cocky stance, but there's something almost nervous in the set of her shoulders and the turn of her head. "Sorry to interrupt the party, but Q was due for a meal, and I thought I'd save her from the rubber chicken, watery mashed potatoes, and lime jello that was on her menu." She grimaces (and Quinn does too) before nodding to the tray. "I tossed in a veggie burger for Miss Meatless over there, but I can't promise it's edible."

"Thank you, Santana," Rachel says, grateful despite the warning. Neither one of them has eaten anything since breakfast. Once Quinn had gone into labor, it had been nothing but crunching on ice cubes to stay hydrated, but now that there's actual food in her line of sight, she realizes just how hungry she is.

"No problem," Santana dismisses with a shrug. "I can step out again if you need more family time," but it's pretty clear from the expression on her face that she doesn't want to go.

"Oh, don't leave on our account, Doctor Lopez," Hiram tells her with a grin. "Leroy and I were just about to search out some dinner of our own. Weren't we, Leroy?"

He nods. "We do need to keep our blood sugar regulated."

Hiram glances over at Judy. "What do you say, Judy? Would you care to join us?"

"I'd love to," she agrees with a smile. She pauses to smooth a hand over Quinn's hair, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. "I'll come back later, Quinnie."

"Thanks, Mom," Quinn whispers, offering her a grateful smile.

Leroy makes a similar promise to Rachel and gives her another exuberant bear hug before they finally make their way to the door.

Santana salutes them on the way out. "Later, Berry dads….Judes."

Hiram chuckles. "It's always a pleasure, Santana."

"Well, obviously," she boasts with a familiar smirk.

And then their parents are gone, leaving Santana staring at them from across the room.

"So are you wheeling that tray over here or what?" Quinn finally asks after Santana gives them no indication that she intends to move anytime soon.

"What am I, your slave?" Santana grumbles, but she does push the tray closer, leaving it at the foot of the bed since Quinn is still holding the baby in her arms. Santana walks over to stand next to Rachel, staring down at Calliope for a long moment while Quinn waits for her to say something. That something turns out to be, "So…this is the munchkin, huh?"

"She has a name, Santana," Rachel huffs indignantly, crossing her arms as she rises from her position on the edge of the bed.

"So I heard. Calliope Alice," Santana recites, testing it out. "You know you named your kid after the hot, bi doctor from  _Grey's Anatomy_ , right?"

"That's  _not_  why we picked it," Quinn asserts with a mild scowl aimed at Santana. And  _this_  is exactly why they hadn't shared their preferred names with anyone while Quinn had still been pregnant. They'd both known there would be jokes and snarky commentary.

Santana shrugs. "It's cool if you did. Callie was a kick ass character, and Sara Ramirez is still hot as hell."

"Watch your language," Rachel scolds, poking Santana in the side. "There are innocent ears in the room now."

"Yeah, yeah," Santana grumbles, rubbing at her abused side. "But my point still stands."

"You suck," Quinn mutters peevishly, glaring up at her friend. Calliope begins to fuss a bit in her arms, no doubt sensing her mother's annoyance, and Quinn attempts to calm her with the same gentle rocking motion that Leroy had employed.

"Ignore her, baby," Rachel soothes. "Calliope is the perfect name for our little girl."

"She is little, isn't she?" Santana notes, leaning over to get a better look. Her lips curve into an oddly tremulous smile for a long moment before it transforms into a familiar teasing grin. "Bet you were relieved about the nose, huh?"

"Santana!" Quinn hisses, her outburst upsetting Calliope even more.

Santana winces, looking marginally chastised—or possibly just uncomfortable that the baby is whimpering unhappily. "Jeez, Q. If you make me get all sappy about the little mini-Berry you grew, I'm'a cry all over you," she admits, sounding more than a little choked-up all of a sudden, "and…nobody wants to see that." She turns her face away, swiping hastily at the skin beneath her glistening eyes. "Shit," she mutters.

"Language," Rachel censures again, but it's soft and filled with understanding this time as she lays a forgiving hand on Santana's shoulder.

No sooner does Rachel touch her than Santana crumbles before their eyes, turning to hug Rachel with a body-wracking sob. Rachel looks stunned for a moment, flailing her arms uncertainly before eventually wrapping them around Santana in a comforting hug.

"Oh, God," Santana sobs into her shoulder. "You have a…a…baby. And she's so fu…freaking adorable. I'm so…ha…happy for you."

"We're pretty happy too," Rachel assures her, and she sounds every bit as emotional as Santana does. She sniffles in stereo with Santana, rubbing circles over her back. "Are you okay?

Santana nods against her. "I'm just gonna need a minute." And honestly, Quinn needs a minute now too, because tears are slipping over her cheeks as she watches her wife and her best friend rock back and forth in a big, wet, messy embrace—overcome with joy. She manages to lift a hand away from Calliope, who's become oddly quiet now that everyone else is crying, to brush away some of her own tears.

"Okay," Santana eventually says, slapping Rachel's back twice before she hastily steps back. She runs her fingers beneath her eyes and over her cheeks before nodding decisively. "Yeah, I'm good," she announces, leaving Rachel to dig for a Kleenex to dry her own eyes. Santana turns to look at Quinn with a faint grin. "I'd hug you too, Q, but I don't wanna squish the kidlet."

Quinn chuckles wetly, glancing down at Calliope to find her blinking sleepily. "Do you want to hold her?" she asks, lifting her eyes back to Santana.

Santana takes a deep breath, looking undecided for all of three seconds before nodding. "Yeah. I really do." And then she's stepping closer, bending down to let Quinn place the baby in her arms, and Quinn gets to have a close up view of her face as it transforms with the softest, most tender expression she's ever seen Santana Lopez wear.

"Oh, wow," she whispers in wonder as she straightens with Calliope in her arms. "Hola, chiquitita. I'm your Tia Santana. That means aunt in Spanish," she explains patiently, grinning at the baby. "I mean, I'm not technically your  _aunt_ , but your moms are mi familia, so yeah…close enough, right?" Quinn feels warm and fuzzy at the declaration. "Don't worry. I'll teach you all about that stuff when you're older. Stuff your moms don't even know about."

"Oh, lord," Quinn mutters, feeling suddenly much less warm or fuzzy.

"Should we be worried?" Rachel asks, sliding back onto the bed next to Quinn.

Santana ignores them, completely focused on the baby in her arms. "We're gonna have all sorts of fun together, you and me."

"We should definitely be worried," Rachel decides before Quinn can answer, though she's smiling fondly when she says it.

"Your moms are no fun at all," Santana informs Calliope in dulcet tones, "but they don't need to be. They're gonna be the best moms ever." Her eyes briefly dart to Rachel and Quinn (who are both infinitely touched by the assessment) before a smirk paints her lips and her gaze returns to the baby as she whispers conspiratorially, "Don't tell them I said that."

"You know what?" Quinn murmurs, snuggling deeper into Rachel's body as she watches Santana with their daughter. "I don't think we need to worry at all." Santana is one more person who'll love and care for their daughter—a family of choice.

Santana rolls her eyes, grinning down at Calliope. "You're the one they should be worrying about. Just look at you. You've already got them wrapped around your tiny, little finger, don't you, Cal?"

"Calliope," Rachel corrects firmly.

"Calliope…Cal…Callie…it's all the same," Santana dismisses with a shrug.

"It really isn't," Rachel argues stubbornly.

"Maybe we should pick our battles, sweetie," Quinn cautiously suggests. She's not about to get behind anyone calling their little girl  _Cal_ , but she actually wouldn't mind using  _Callie_  once in a while. "I mean, it's better than  _munchkin_."

Rachel seems to consider this, but Santana only laughs. "Oh, I'm still using that too."

Rachel sighs in resignation. "I wish you wouldn't."

"We've been over this, short stack," Santana reminds her with a smile that's far softer than her usual smirk. "It's a sign of affection." And her eyes glisten suspiciously as she gazes at them until she blinks it away. "Now eat your dinner," she orders, nodding to the tray of food. "I didn't steal that from the cafeteria for nothing."

Biting back a smile, Rachel reaches forward to pull the tray closer, and then she helps Quinn sit up straighter before she slips a pillow behind her back for support. Every part of Quinn's body aches, but the food looks so good, so it's not hard to ignore the protests of her muscles (and other places) in favor of eating. It's not exactly gourmet, but it certainly looks better than the typical hospital fare, and Quinn is so hungry that it tastes like a little piece of heaven right now.

Rachel can't quite claim the same about her meatless burger, but it's good enough to tide her over until they're out of the hospital and able to indulge in Judy's homemade cooking again.

Santana seems perfectly content to sit on the loveseat, holding Calliope, while Quinn and Rachel eat their dinner, and then Rachel decides to finally check her text messages from earlier, reading some of the responses back to Quinn. Most of them, like Josie and Sarah and Aileen and Jessica, offer their congratulations and say they can't wait to meet the baby but offer to do just that, deferring to the new mothers to choose the best time for them to have their first visit. Kurt is the only one that asks if he can stop in for a few minutes tonight, and since he's Rachel's best friend and has been bogged down in preparations for the fall fashion week events swiftly approaching, neither of them have the heart to tell him  _no_.

Steven had texted that he's booked a flight back to the city on Friday, so they still have a few days before he'll want to meet the little person that he helped them create.

None of them are really keeping track of the time, so the light knock on the door takes them all by surprise, and they turn almost in unison to see Teresa peeking inside. "Hi," she greets with a small wave, smiling at Quinn and Rachel before her eyes find Santana with the baby.

Santana grins at her. "Hey, babe. Get in here."

She hesitates in the doorway, glancing back to Quinn a little uncertainly. "Oh, I don't want to intrude. I just wanted to pop my head in and offer my congratulations before I drag that one home," she explains, gesturing to Santana.

"Wanky."

Quinn ignores Santana's inappropriate comment. "You can come all the way in," she invites, waving her in. Teresa's text hadn't said anything about a visit either way, and Quinn figures this explains why. She's come to collect her girlfriend, who's here well past the end of her shift, and sneak a quick peek at the baby while she's at it. Two birds, one stone.

"Yes, come meet Calliope," Rachel urges with a welcoming smile.

With that, Teresa finally steps away from the doorway and into the room. "I really love that name by the way. It's very poetic."

Rachel grins triumphantly. "Thank you. We love it too," and she sends a pointed look at Santana who just ignores her in favor of gazing down at the baby again

Rather than heading straight for the baby, Teresa pauses at the bed. "Congratulations," she murmurs, bending down to give Quinn a loose, sideways hug.

Quinn lifts one arm to briefly return it, smiling in gratitude. "Thank you."

Teresa lets go of her but strecthes an arm across the bed to squeeze Rachel's shoulder. "I'm so happy for you guys," and Rachel reaches up to press her hand over Teresa's in silent thanks. It's only then that Teresa moves to sit on the tiny loveseat next to Santana, her face lighting up when she takes her first look at Calliope. "Oh, wow. She's gorgeous."

"I know, right?" Santana boasts smugly, making Teresa laugh.

"She does remember Calliope is  _ours_ , right?" Rachel whispers to Quinn.

Quinn chuckles quietly, shaking her head as she watches Santana beam at her daughter. It's kind of endearing, but, "If she doesn't, I'll definitely be reminding her just who was in this delivery room doing all the work."

"You must be exhausted," Teresa realizes, offering Quinn a sympathetic smile.

"You have no idea." At this point, it's only the determination to hold her daughter again that's keeping her upright.

"Well, we're not staying much longer," she promises.

"We're not?" Santana questions with a frown.

Teresa ignores her, continuing to address Rachel and Quinn. "I know you probably want some alone time with this little angel."

Rachel sighs. "I doubt we'll have that for a while. Our parents are stopping back after dinner, and Kurt is planning to visit tonight too."

Teresa nods in understanding. "Newborn babies do seem to be pretty big people magnets."

"Yeah," Quinn agrees, feeling warm and fuzzy once again as she rests her head on Rachel's shoulder. "You can hold her if you want."

Teresa's hopeful eyes drifts back to Calliope. "I'd like that."

They all wait for Santana to transfer the baby into Teresa's arms, but she only continues to sit there, utterly besotted with Calliope.

"Santana…?" Rachel prompts.

She looks up with a clueless, "What?" before her eyes drift back to Teresa, who's looking at her expectantly. "Oh, yeah," she mutters sheepishly, finally shifting Calliope into her girlfriend's waiting arms.

Teresa settles easily with the baby, smiling softly. "Hello, cutie pie. Oh...you're gonna be a real heartbreaker, aren't you?"

Santana watches Teresa hold the baby with an unmistakably smitten expression on her face, and Quinn wonders if her friend is imaging this in her future the way Quinn used to imagine it in hers. "Your girlfriend seems pretty comfortable with a baby, San." she observes with purpose.

"Yeah," Santana murmurs affectionately, never taking her eyes away from Teresa and Calliope.

Teresa gazes up at Santana with an amused grin. "Mine seemed pretty comfortable with one too."

Quinn turns her face into Rachel's shoulder, grinning happily. "I think we just found a couple of babysitters." And maybe Santana has found a reason to start thinking about taking the next step with Teresa.

"Oh, definitely," Rachel agrees, resting her own head against Quinn's.

Neither Teresa nor Santana actually bothers to object.

True to her word, Teresa only holds the baby for a few more minutes before she returns her to Quinn, suggesting to Santana that it's time to go. Calliope coos happily the moment she's back in her mother's arms, instantly closing her eyes in contentment. Santana seems a little reluctant to leave at first, but Teresa takes her hand and whispers something in her ear that has Santana's eyes sparking with heat.

"Later, mamacitas," she says hastily, tugging a laughing Teresa towards the door. "Congrats again on the munchkin."

"We'll see you three soon," Teresa promises before they disappear out the door, and Quinn's breath hitches unexpectedly at the casual reminder that—yeah, they're a family of three now.

Of course, the three of them don't have very much time to enjoy being alone together before Kurt makes his expected appearance. Quinn wouldn't be surprised if he'd passed Santana and Teresa somewhere in the hall.

"Hello, my lovelies," he trills, making his grand entrance with a vase full of yellow roses in one hand and a tiny, white teddy bear wearing a pink bow in the other. "Where is our newest little Diva?"

Quinn chuckles at the moniker as Rachel stands to greet Kurt. "Right here. Hello, Kurt."

Kurt glides into the room, setting the roses on top of the table next to Quinn's bed. "The flowers are for the new mothers. And this," he carefully places the bear right next to the vase, "is for Miss Calliope." He leans over the bed to get a better look at the baby in Quinn's arms, smiling down at her. "Oh, my. She's beautiful." He lifts his gaze and grins at them. "And I'm not just saying that to be polite the way most people do with newborns. She really is lovely."

"The loveliest," Rachel sighs in agreement, moving to his side.

Kurt wraps a friendly arm around her shoulders. "Who could expect any less with both of you as her mothers?"

"Thank you, Kurt," Rachel says, leaning into him. "And thank you for the flowers. That was very thoughtful of you."

"Your gorgeous daughter might be the star of the show today, but we mustn't forget who made this production possible." Quinn and Rachel both laugh at that, and a smiling Kurt turns to pull Rachel in for a brief hug. "I'm very happy for you." He lets go of her and turns back to Quinn, bending down to kiss her cheek. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Quinn murmurs as he straightens.

"You really do make gorgeous babies," he observes with a playful grin.

Quinn beams at him, flushing with pride even though Calliope doesn't technically share any of her genes. She and Rachel really had made her together. "Do you want to hold her?" she feels compelled to ask, even though Calliope seems to have dozed off again.

"Oh, heavens no, honey," Kurt instantly refuses, looking mildly appalled by the suggestion as he touches his shirt. "This is silk."

"You're terrible," Rachel accuses, lightly shoving at his shoulder. "Couldn't you have worn something more appropriate?"

"I was in a last minute fashion week strategy session when you texted with the happy news, and I came straight here as soon as I could get away," Kurt explains apologetically. "But don't you worry. Miss Calliope and I will have plenty of bonding time when I'm dressed appropriately and she's slightly less," he waggles his fingers at her, "drooly."

"She's  _not_ drooly," Rachel defends, planting her hands on her hips—clearly offended on Calliope's behalf.

"Well, perhaps not at the moment," Kurt concedes, grinning down at the baby, "but all sorts of unmentionable things come out of babies."

"Kurt!"

"You know it's true, Rachel," he challenges, completely unrepentant. "In any case, I don't intend to intrude for very long. I know you'd rather be alone with her," he admits with a grateful smile, acknowledging his bold request to visit so soon. He gently traces a finger over Calliope's soft cheek, causing her sleepy eyes to flutter open for just a few seconds. "I just really wanted to meet this precious little girl in person before I drown in a sea of sequins and lace for the next two weeks."

"Well, I'm sure Calliope is glad to meet her Uncle Kurt," Quinn offers generously.

Kurt only stays for ten more minutes before he bids them farewell with hugs and a promise to call them when his schedule frees up some. This is one of his busiest times of the year, and Quinn won't be surprised if it really is another two or three weeks before they'll see him again.

It isn't very long after he leaves before their parents return from their long dinner break. Apparently, they'd opted to forgo the hospital food and had walked to one of the nearby restaurants instead for a celebratory meal. Hiram and Leroy are slow to say their goodbyes for the night, but they eventually make their way out with promises to come back tomorrow, leaving only Judy to linger for a little while longer, eager for one more turn at holding her granddaughter before she heads back to the apartment with Rachel's key.

Eventually, though, it's only Quinn and Rachel and their daughter left alone for the night—well, disregarding the nurse who stops in to check on them—and after semi-successfully breastfeeding Calliope for the second time, Quinn finally has the chance to take a shower. She's stiff and sore when Rachel helps her up from the bed, and Rachel asks if she needs help getting into the shower as well.

"I think I can manage," she promises, rolling her eyes. "I'm just sore...and kind of gross right now."

"You're never gross, baby," Rachel assures her lovingly, stroking her cheek—and then her nose wrinkles adorably. "But you really do need a shower."

"No shi…" she cuts herself off, eyes darting to Calliope in her warming bassinet where she's been emitting little gurgles and coos and whimpers—not all of them happy—since Quinn and Rachel had put her down there. "Crap."

Rachel chuckles. "Nice save."

"We're really gonna have to watch that from now on," Quinn realizes, frowning thoughtfully. Neither one of them have ever been prone to casually dropping a ton of curse words, but they also haven't gone out of their way to keep their language strictly PG. Calliope might be too young in this moment to understand anything they're saying, but it won't be long at all before she does. "I don't want our daughter's first word to be something vulgar."

"Then we should probably keep her away from Santana," Rachel says, laughing.

"I don't think that's going to be an option," Quinn replies with a knowing grin, recalling the way Santana had turned to mush the moment she'd held Calliope. She really is such a softy underneath all of that snark. Quinn is completely certain that she intends to keep every single one of the promises that she'd made to Calliope today.

"You're probably right," Rachel agrees with a fond smile.

"I always am."

Rachel laughs again, shaking her head indulgently. She knows far better than to challenge Quinn on that point after Quinn had just given birth to their daughter. "Go take your shower." She leans in to steal a brief kiss before promising, "Calliope and I will be right here waiting for you."

It's the best promise, and Quinn happily slips in the bathroom with a blissful smile on her lips that just won't seem to dim. She strips away the hospital gown and underwear and steps under the warm water in silent relief, relieved to finally wash away the sweat and blood from her body. It feels wonderful, and she might stay in there a little longer than is strictly necessary just to enjoy the sense of being clean.

Once she's dry, she puts on fresh underwear and a pad and slips into the sleepshirt that she'd packed from home. It's a henley style with buttons that go down far enough to allow her to slip it off one shoulder should Calliope wake up looking for another meal. Both Peggy and the night nurse had all but guaranteed that would be happening.

When she pads back out of the bathroom, feeling fresh once again, it's to find Rachel curled up on the loveseat with her shirt open and Calliope held high against her naked chest. The sight alone would be enough to make Quinn's knees go weak with love, but the sound of Rachel's soft, sweet voice, singing their daughter her very first lullaby, sends her heart soaring while joyful tears instantly pool in her eyes.

" _Goodnight my angel, now it's time to dream,  
and dream how wonderful your life will be._ "

Quinn presses her fingers to her lips, drifting closer to her wife and daughter as if she's being pulled by an invisible string—the string that ties them all together.

_"Someday your child may cry, and if you sing this lullaby,  
then in your heart there will always be a part of me."_

Rachel glances up at Quinn with a tender smile, her own eyes glistening with tears as Quinn carefully sinks onto the loveseat next to her. She ignores her body's aching protests at the action for the need to be near her family, and she slips an arm around Rachel's shoulders, content to listen to her wife finish the song.

 _"Someday we'll all be gone,_  
_but lullabies go on and on._  
_They never die._  
_That's how you and I will be_.¹"

Rachel very carefully dips her head down to place a feather-light kiss to the top of Calliope's head. "I love you, little star," she whispers before lifting her gaze to Quinn. "And I love you, my extraordinary wife."

Quinn brushes the dampness from her cheeks, smiling wetly. "I love you both so much." She reaches out to touch Calliope's perfect little face, careful not to wake her. She looks so peaceful there against her mama's chest, and Quinn's eyes drift up to meet her wife's tender gaze. "I've never been happier than I am right now." Holding her family.

"Neither have I," Rachel agrees quietly, leaning into Quinn's side.

Quinn's arm tightens around Rachel as they sit together, basking in shared devotion to each other and their perfect baby girl. They've waited so long for her to arrive, and now she's here—theirs to love and protect and nurture for their rest of their lives. Everything Quinn needs is right here on this loveseat, and she silently vows to do everything in her power to make sure the three of them stay as happy as they are in this moment forever.

This is her life now.

And it's perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ _Lullabye (Goodnight, My Angel), Billy Joel_


End file.
